Amelioration
by jumpertrainer
Summary: Will a new art heist be enough to put Neal and Peter back on track?  Picks up after Relapse.  Whumpage, and possible spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story will pick up after Relapse, and may reference both that and A Way Through The Darkness, I haven't entirely decided yet. I will try not to confuse anyone if you haven't read those yet.**

I don't own White Collar or the characters... although I'm sure life would be a little more interesting if I did ;-) Please be kind...re[view]...

Chapter One

Special Agent Peter Burke stood gazing down at the photo of the missing painting, listening to the museum representative drone on and on about the priceless-ness of the item in front of him. He flicked his eyes over at his partner; art-thief turned FBI consultant, Neal Caffrey. Neal was standing with his back towards him; quietly looking out the windows down at the city, feebly leaning on a slender silver tipped black cane. Neal's silence and inattentiveness made Peter question whether he had let Neal come back to work too soon. It had only been six weeks since a sniper's round had nearly killed him. A shiver went down Peter's back, and he tried to push the memory to the back of his mind; dwelling on the past wouldn't help either of them move forward.

"Thank you, Miss Diaz." Peter brought his attention back to the attractive woman in front of him. "We'll be in touch."

Peter took a seat in one of the chairs at the long conference table, silently waiting for the room to clear before addressing his partner.

"I don't get it. People actually call this art?"

"It's a Matisse." Neal's voice was quiet, and he still didn't move.

"It just looks like a bunch of scribbles to me." He smirked a little as he saw Neal finally turn to face him.

"He was one of the leading artists of the 20th Century, Peter." Peter could hear the annoyance in Neal's tone, something that was usually well hidden.

"Neal, if your not ready…"

"Peter…I'm fine." Neal's manner was abrupt as he slowly limped the few steps to the table Peter was sitting at, using his left hand to lean on the back of one of the empty chairs, his right hand tightly gripping the silver handle of the cane.

"Fine, sit down before you pass out." Peter pointed at the chair, noticing the younger man's face was getting pale.

"I…" He started to protest, but quickly decided against it, and gently eased himself down in the chair he had previously been clinging to. He was determined to make it through the rest of the day; he had to prove that he was all right, so that Peter would let him go back to his apartment. Not that he didn't enjoy Elizabeth's cooking, but being stuck with Peter around the clock was wearing on his nerves.

"What are you thinking?" Peter tried to keep his tone casual.

"It was Mrs. White in the library." Neal eased himself back in the chair, keeping his clenched left hand under the table out of sight.

"With the candlestick?"

"No, with the lead pipe."

"So how did she get around security?" Peter hoped focusing on the case would take Neal's mind off of the pain he knew he was still in.

"Not sure." Neal let his gaze drop to the file on the table in front of him, casually flipping through the photos.

"Neal, if you don't figure it out…"

"I know, I know…figure it out or I go back in."

"Neal…that wasn't what I meant." Peter felt a little ashamed, knowing that they had used that threat against Neal all too often in the past.

"Going to have to go see it." Neal kept his eyes on the photos.

"Oh come on, I know you've been there before."

"Out of my radius." Neal looked up; his blue eyes showed a hint of resentment, before quickly cooling off. "It's been a few years."

"Alright. I will let Miss. Diaz know we're coming." Peter saw Neal nod slightly before leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He decided to make the phone call from his office, and quietly stood.

"Peter, make sure to bring a black light." He kept his eyes closed as he heard Peter softly exit the room.

.

Peter stayed a few steps behind Neal, watching him carefully navigate his way through the hallway and into the main gallery. It still pained him to see his partner this way, Neal was normally so confidant and full of life; the last six weeks had been eerily quiet and dull. Peter knew it was hard on Neal, being stuck living with himself and his wife, Elizabeth. He had seen a down turn in Neal's attitude in the last week or so, he had been becoming more irritable, and somnolent. He had hoped the case would give him something positive to focus on, but he was starting to doubt himself, as he noticed that Neal almost seemed to flinch as the cane clicked on the marble floor. He also knew that Neal was going to need a distraction once his physical therapy started in a few days. Neal finally stopped in front of an empty wall, and Peter quietly came up beside him, seeing that he was struggling to keep his normal smiling façade in place. His manner was more aloof than it should have been, standing in the middle of an art gallery.

"You have the light?" Peter quietly nodded in response. "Check the wall."

Peter looked at his partner, slightly confused, but turned the light on, walked closer and swept it over the wall, stopping suddenly when he found a small glowing streak under where the painting had previously hung.

"It was marked." Neal nodded.

"They had an inside man. Check the other paintings."

Peter walked slowly and carefully around the room, checking under each painting for similar marks. He had checked most of two more walls before finding another mark on the wall directly across from the stolen painting. Neal cautiously meandered over, taking the light and moving it up over the painting itself. Peter heard Miss Diaz muffle a scream, and looked at Neal questioningly, as the painting stayed dark under the black light.

"It's a forgery, Peter." Neal saw the confusion still plastered on his partner's face. "The old organic paints glow under black light. New paints are mostly synthetic, so they don't glow."

"So our thieves were stealing the paintings, and replacing them with forgeries? Why?"

"It buys them time to get the originals safely out of the country, before anyone notices anything amiss." Peter noticed that when Neal turned to face the Art Director, his eyes had brightened a bit. "You're going to have to check the whole museum."

"You've seen this before." It was more a statement than a question.

"I may have a certain knowledge of a similar occurrence."

"Neal…" Peter's tone was laced with warning.

"It wasn't me Peter." He caught Peter's glare. "But, what I don't understand, is, the person who supposedly pulled this off before, is thought to be dead."


	2. Chapter 2

I don't own White Collar or the characters... blah...blah...blah... Please be kind...re[view]...

Chapter Two

Peter was conscious of the fact that Neal wasn't paying attention to the drive, as he eased the car through the afternoon traffic. He sat, as was usual the last few weeks, looking out the window with a blank stare on his face. Their trip to the museum, while seemingly therapeutic for Neal, had obviously exhausted him. Peter knew that Neal had wanted to work the whole day, feeling like he had something to prove, but the younger man was looking drained. Peter smiled to himself when he saw Neal's expression brighten as they crossed 96th street.

"We're not going back to the office?" Neal turned his wondering eyes towards Peter.

"I thought we could work from home for the rest of the afternoon."

"But we're not headed towards your house Peter."

"No…No we're not." Peter smiled back at his younger partner. Neal returned the smile, but stayed quiet, an air of anticipation sweeping over him. "You sure you can handle three flights of stairs?"

"Only one way to find out." Neal settled himself deeper into the seat, his face showing a bit of a child-like excitement. Peter chuckled to himself as he turned his eyes back to the road and navigated the last half-mile to June's house.

Peter was relieved to find a parking space still open next to the old white stone mansion; glad he wouldn't have to watch Neal limp across the busy road. He had barely pulled the key out of the ignition when Neal had his door open, diligently unfolding himself out onto the sidewalk. Neal stood bracing himself against the car while he waited for Peter, his blue eyes danced with impatience. Being able to read Neal's emotions so clearly had taken some getting used to; the pain medications had seemed to make it near impossible for Neal to maintain his normal suave image. Peter felt sure it was one reason Neal had been so eager to return to his apartment, there was still parts of himself he desperately tried to keep hidden.

Once Peter's feet had hit the sidewalk, Neal took off for the house, gingerly bringing the cane along with his right foot; slowly letting the left follow. It was a sight Peter still wasn't used to, and one he didn't want to get used to; it was so out of character for the young man who was normally so vibrant. Peter watched from behind with apprehension as Neal slowly tackled the steps leading up to the front door. Even though, he knew Neal had been navigating the flight of stairs at his house, Peter still worried that Neal would let the desire to return to his own space cause him to push himself too hard.

Peter quietly followed Neal through the two entry doors, and the entryway, unable as always to keep from gawking at the colorful mosaics and intricately carved adornments. The place did seem to suit Neal and he and his landlady June had become quite close. Peter knew that June would be back from her trip that afternoon, and would be able to keep an eye on Neal; it was the only reason he was even considering letting Neal come back. Only catching up when Neal finally stopped at the base of the stairs, Peter noticed a slight look of frustration on his face.

"Neal…"

"shhhh…I got this, Peter." Neal waved him off, as he slowly and cautiously took the first few stairs.

Neal took each flight of stairs carefully, pausing to rest on each floor. Peter knew he was determined to make it the whole way up. There were a few times, when some of the color had drained out of his face, that Peter wasn't sure he was going to manage. Somehow, though, he was still on his feet as they reached the fourth floor landing and eased down the short hallway to the apartment door.

"Neal, I have to say, I'm pleasantly surprised." Peter asserted as he followed Neal in.

"I've been practicing. You didn't think I was just sitting on the couch watching baseball all day do you?" Neal teased as he shuffled through the small dining area, headed for the kitchen and a glass of wine.

"The '96 Mariah was a little disappointing, past it's prime I would say." Peter saw Neal pause, a slight hesitation in his step before he turned back around, an amicable lightness to his expression.

"So glad you could save me from it. What are you doing here, Mozz?"

"The suit called and told me he was bringing you." Mozzie nodded his head in Peter's direction.

Peter nodded a silent greeting to the little man sitting in a chair in the living area. Peter knew there was a long history between Neal and his friend that he may never know, but he did know that Mozzie cared for Neal, and trusted that he would keep their favorite con-man safe.

"Take care of him, I'll be back in a little while." Peter gave them both a warning glance before heading back out, closing the door behind him.

"No, Mozz. What are you doing here?"

"Well, nice to see you too. I'm not allowed to check up on you? You've been stuck in the suit's house for so long, I had started to worry you'd crossed over to the dark side."

"Thanks, Mozz, but I'm fine." He crossed to the wine rack, pulling out a '95 Shiraz and pouring himself a glass. He quickly gulped it down, refilling the glass before crossing back to the living room where his old friend was sitting.

"Right. You're fine." Mozzie eyed Neal carefully, not sure the last time he had seen Neal down a glass that quickly. He decided not to say anything, but filed it away for later.

"What do you remember about Curtis Bault?" Neal eased himself down onto the sofa, where he could face his friend.

"He's dead, you know that." Mozzie shot Neal a questioning look. "Wait, I know that look. Neal, there were witnesses."

"I know, that's what doesn't make any sense. You remember his last job?"

"Yeah, the one where he stole like, what, twenty paintings from the Tate, before anyone noticed they were missing?"

"mmm…hmm…" Neal slowly sipped his wine, contemplating how much information he should divulge to his old confidant. "Someone just pulled a similar heist at the Museum of Modern Art."

"No…" Mozzie shifted forward in his seat. "What did they take?"

"Mozz." Neal couldn't help letting out a lighthearted chuckle; it did feel good to be home again.

"No, seriously."

"We don't know everything for sure, yet…why?" Neal leaned forward, curiosity getting the better of him. "Have you heard something?"

"No…no…just being nosey." He noticed the strain on his friend's face. "You sure your OK?"

"Yeah…yeah. I'm fine." Neal carefully adjusted himself on the couch. "I need you to do some digging."

"Not literally I hope." Mozzie chuckled, but stopped abruptly when Neal's face stayed serious. "You don't think…"

"I don't know, Mozz. Just check it out. I'm just going to lay down for a bit." He caught Mozzie's suspicious look. "Just until Peter gets back."

"Alright. I'll catch you later."

Neal waited until he heard the door softly click shut before gradually easing himself backwards into the sofa, slowly swinging his legs up and tucking one arm behind his head, the other gently wrapped around his midsection. The climb up the stairs had made all his injuries from being shot join in on the misery. He closed his eyes, enjoying the lingering warmth of the red wine, and felt his tired sore body slowly drift off to sleep.

.

Peter returned to Neal's apartment a few hours later to find the door unlocked. He knocked quietly, and let himself in when there was no answer. He gently placed the box of files, and the duffel bag he had been carrying on the dinning table, before turning to look for Neal. He noticed that the bed was empty, and dropped his gaze to the sofa in front of him, finding a black socked foot hanging limply over the armrest. He stealthily walked to where he could see Neal, finding him on his side; one arm tightly wrapped around him, the other carefully nestled under his head. The twisted pained expression on Neal's sleeping face confirmed Peter's earlier suspicions that the day had been too much on his injured partner. There was faint knock on the door, and Peter silently crossed, and opened it, revealing June standing on the other side.

"Peter. Is Neal here?" June's soft voice didn't hide her excitement.

"He is. He's asleep on the couch." He moved out of the doorway to let her in. "I don't think I'm going to wake him. I brought over the files on our new case, and his meds and clothes are in the duffel bag."

June just smiled her motherly smile, looking over towards where Neal slept, and then back to Peter.

"Don't worry. I'll take good care of him." June patted Peter on the shoulder, watching him understandingly as he gazed over at his sleeping partner. "He'll be fine, Peter."

"Alright, tell him I'll see him in the morning." Peter turned to leave. He knew it was the first step in things getting back to normal, but it seemed strange to be leaving him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he still felt the need to protect him.


	3. Chapter 3

I don't own White Collar, or the characters... blah...blah...blah...

Please be kind...re[view]...

**A/N: Don't worry we're getting to the whumping... but don't you think Neal deserves just a tiny break? -) Thanks to all my reviewers, you make me smile at the end of my long days. Hope you enjoy!**

Chapter Three

The door to Neal's apartment was open when Peter arrived. He could hear voices coming from out on the terrace as he entered, pausing to look down at the file box on the table. He thoughtfully ran a finger across it's top, contemplating the fact that it didn't appear to have been touched. He had truly hoped that Neal would have at least looked through the files last night. The fact that he hadn't seemed a little foreboding. He looked up when he heard movement, and found June approaching. She was stylishly dressed as always, in a brown pantsuit and soft rust colored shirt; Peter always admired her timeless refinement.

"Morning, June."

"Good morning, Peter." She gently laid a hand on his arm, bringing her amiable brown eyes up to look directly into his. "Go easy on him, he didn't have a good night."

"I told him…" Peter let his gaze rest on Neal, who was sitting on the terrace with his back facing them, still in his dressing robe.

"Just take it slow." She smiled understandingly at him, and gave his arm a pat before she quietly left the apartment, leaving Peter standing looking out at his partner.

The smell of Italian roast coffee, and fresh scones had him moving towards the double doors leading out to the terrace. Neal didn't look up from his newspaper when Peter approached. Peter causally pulled out a chair across from Neal, sitting down and pouring himself a cup of June's heavenly coffee. After sitting and watching the younger man for a few minutes, Peter decided to break the silence.

"Ten o'clock, Neal."

"I know." Neal still didn't take his eyes off his paper.

"You look over the files last night?"

"No." Peter had to force his frustration down at Neal's abrupt response, and decided to switch tactics.

"We got the total count from the museum." There was still no reaction from Neal. "Looks like they got eight paintings, and they found marks under six more."

"They weren't done." Neal finally folded his paper and laid it down on the table, picking up his coffee and slowly taking a sip, keeping his flat blue eyes on Peter.

"Neal, are you OK? Because if you're not…"

"I'm fine." Peter saw something quickly flash through Neal's eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

"What do you know, Neal. You said you had seen this before."

"I have." Neal saw Peter's confounded expression. "You're looking for a ghost, Peter. The man that pulled the job before is dead."

"A copy-cat, then."

"I guess it would have to be." Neal just continued to stare at Peter, his eyes empty and hollow.

"Who was it, Neal? What aren't you telling me?"

"Curtis Bault. Annoying little French guy." He caught Peter's stern look, and rolled his head in defeat. "He always worked with two other players. An inside man, and a forger. The forger and the inside man would never meet, and Curtis was always the go between."

"Neal…" Peter didn't like where he thought this was going.

"No, Peter. I told you before, it wasn't me." Peter could see a sudden change in Neal's posture. "I've been captive with you, if you don't remember."

Neal roughly pushed his chair back from the table; grabbing the cane and standing abruptly, a flash of pain ran across his face as he looked down at Peter. He swallowed hard and stuffed his temper down, blanking his expression.

"Give me until after lunch. I'll get dressed and go over the files."

"Fine." Peter finished the last sip of his coffee and stood, keeping his eyes on Neal. "But, I want the whole story when I get back."

"Fine." Neal limped back into the apartment, obviously agitated, and leaning a little harder on the cane normal. Peter made a mental note of it, and let himself out.

.

"It wasn't Caffrey." Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to alleviate the headache that was forming.

"Peter, we don't have anyway to know that for certain." Reese Hughes, his immediate boss, sat across the desk staring back at him stoically.

"He's either been in the hospital, or at my house for the last six weeks." Peter felt he was only pointing out the obvious.

"We don't know when they started. They apparently didn't finish the job…or couldn't."

"It wasn't him, Reese." Peter let out a long sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"I hope you're personal feelings for Neal aren't clouding your judgement, Peter. His is a convicted forger."

"Yes, he is." Peter stood; knowing the conversation was over, pausing before leaving the office. "But he's not the only one in town."

Peter escaped to the quiet solitude of his office, and buried his face in his hands. It was a very thin line that they always walked with Neal, but Peter had started to feel that he could trust him, at least not to do something as stupid as forge paintings. It was a subject that they had managed to avoid the last few months. He pushed the thought out of his mind; Neal hadn't given him any reason for doubt lately. He turned to his computer, starting a search on Curtis Bault.

.

"What did you find out Mozz?" Neal looked questioningly at his old friend, as they stood gazing out at the city from the terrace atop June's house.

"Just that our ghost may not be a ghost." Mozzie turned to look at Neal. "You better be careful, my friend. Curtis wasn't very fond of you after that Degas incident."

"You talk to Alex?" Neal ignored his friend's concern, instead choosing to move the conversation inside where he could get off his feet.

"She's inquiring about it." Mozzie took a seat in one of the chairs across from Neal. He watched his friend in silence for a moment, unsure of whether Neal was taking him seriously. "If he's alive Neal, he's going to come looking for you."

"Then let's hope he's not alive." Neal pulled out one of the photos from the case file and handed it to Mozzie. "What do you make of this?"

"Looks like good work." Mozzie lifted his glasses from his eyes with one hand, pulling the print closer to look at the details barely visible in the image. "This photo is awful. What else did they take?"

"Mostly Matisses, and Picassos." Neal shifted uncomfortably in his chair, handing a copy of the inventory of stolen items over to Mozzie.

"Aww yes, the classic rivalry." The little man folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket. "Your keeper coming back this afternoon?"

"Mozz…" Neal's tone held a warning in it.

"I take my leave then."

Neal watched him go, glad to be alone once again. He had a little time before Peter would be back and he contemplated getting out of the house. He slowly stood, easing himself over to where his jacket was hanging. He would just go out and get a bite to eat; Peter could pick him up and take him to see the actual forgeries.

Neal remarked to himself how much easier coming down the stairs had been, but found that he was already dreading having to climb back up. Normally, he would have invited Mozzie to tag along, but he wasn't in the mood for company. As he slowly made his way down the block, and turned the corner towards the nearby deli, he could sense someone following close behind him. He stopped at the street crossing and turned, trying to scan the busy street for a familiar face.

"I have to say, it pleases me to see that you're not well." The soft French accent made his skin crawl and his jaw tighten, as he turned towards the voice.

"Curtis Bault. You look good for a dead man." Neal tried his best to blank his expression.

"I hear you've used up a few more of your lives as well. Let's go have a talk."

"I'm little busy right now, maybe some other time."

"Now." Neal felt his whole body tense as the cool metal of a gun barrel was pressed against his ribs.


	4. Chapter 4

I don't own White Collar, or the characters...blah...blah...blah... although, my life would be so much more interesting if I did ;-) Please be kind...re[view]...

**A/N: Merry Christmas! A little whump is my present to you... don't worry... more to come ;-)**

Chapter Four

Neal found himself sitting across the little café table from a man he had hoped to never see again, a revolver pointed at him under the table. If only he had thought to call Peter to pick him up, or at least invited Mozzie for lunch. He sighed to himself; this is just what he got for being in such an irritable mood. Curtis hadn't changed much in the years he had been 'dead.' He was dressed in loose fitting dark clothes that just seemed to hang off his short lean frame. His hair was disheveled and he hadn't shaved in a few days, but his beady green eyes could still pierce through you like little daggers.

Neal's mind flashed back momentarily to the last time he had seen the man. It had been just over eight years ago. Curtis had persuaded him to forge a Degas painting. It had been a masterpiece, even if it was a forgery. But Curtis had always been a rough man, and when Neal had learned of the violent plan to steal the original, he had destroyed it. Curtis had vowed revenge, and he had been forced to lay low for a few months, until they had learned of Curtis's supposed death.

"You owe me, Caffrey." The man continued on. "I think you can still be of use to me."

"Seems to me, that all debts are cancelled when you die."

"Je suis de retour parmi les vivants." Curtis's mouth turned up in an evil sneer.

"Yes, I can see that." Neal sifted uncomfortably in his seat. "What do you want, Curtis?"

"I want you to finish this job for me. My other painter, well, he made a costly mistake that had to be dealt with."

"Je suis retraité." Neal kept his eyes as unemotional as he could manage as he stared back at the little man across from him. "Even if I wasn't, the Feds have the museum locked down tight."

"But you can get in, can't you? I know about you and your little arrangement." Curtis pointed a spindly finger at him and leaned closer. "I know about your Fed buddy and his wife too, so don't think I can't find ways to motivate you."

Neal felt his whole body tense at the mention of Peter and Elizabeth, and couldn't help it when his breath hitched a little. He just hoped his eyes hadn't betrayed him as well.

"That's what I thought. You always were the little altar boy, Caffrey. The paintings are marked, I'm sure you know that by now. You have three days to deliver the first painting, or… well, I'll leave the rest to your imagination."

"And where can I find you when I'm done?"

"You're smart Caffrey, I always liked that about you. But, no. I'll find you. We wouldn't want you sending your Fed friends after me, now would we?" Curtis stood, clamping a hand down tightly on Neal's shoulder, letting his fingernails dig in slightly. "Three days, Caffrey."

Neal sat staring at the empty chair across from him, as he listened to the man shuffle off. When he was certain he wasn't being watched, he closed his eyes and let his head fall backwards, taking a few deep breaths. There were only two ways to play this out, and he didn't like either of them. Somewhere in the not so distant past, he would have just carried out this business with Curtis, and moved on, but doing so would be letting Peter down. His mind wandered back to that day just six weeks ago in the hospital, when Peter had finally told him that he trusted him. How could he betray that trust by doing the work for Curtis? How could he keep Peter and Elizabeth safe and uninvolved without doing the work? His head was swimming, and for the first time in his life, he truly felt torn between the two sides of what he felt was right. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

"Hey Peter…I need you to pick me up."

.

"Tell me about Curtis." Peter sat across from Neal, waiting for the food they had ordered to arrive. He saw Neal's body tense slightly at the mention of the name. He could tell there was a history between the two men, but he had found nothing in the dossier that could shed light on what it was. Neal kept a watchful eye on him as he reached down and produced the file on Curtis Bault. "Tell me what's not in here."

Neal took the folder, laying it closed on the table in front of him. He still hadn't decided how much to tell Peter, and he would have to proceed delicately. One thing he did know, was if he didn't include Peter in what was going on, he would get nailed for all the thefts; that knowledge didn't make him feel any better about telling him. He slowly reached into his pocket, pulling out his prescription and swallowing two of the red pills. Peter looked back at him with a sympathetic smile, and he hated it; he didn't want Peter's pity.

"Neal…" Peter gave him a warning glance. "We have the security guard in custody, but he's too afraid to talk. Tell me what's going on."

"It's a safe bet that you're going to find the forger dead." Neal tried to blank his expression.

"How would you know that?" Neal saw it the instant that Peter figured it out, and he flinched at the disapproving look that Peter fired back at him. "You've seen him. Did you _talk_ to him? _NEAL…"_

"If it makes you feel any better, I only talked to him under duress. He was holding a gun to me at the time."

"No, Neal, that doesn't make me feel better." Peter caught himself, realizing how badly that had come out, and held up a hand to keep Neal from saying anything. "That's not what I meant."

Neal couldn't help but smile at Peter's characteristic awkwardness coming back.

"He was sitting right where you're sitting now." Neal pointed over towards Peter. "Definitely not dead. I'm fine, by the way."

"Alright, tell me why he was holding a gun on you. You two obviously have a history." Neal could feel himself shrink back a little under Peter's disapproving glance.

"Woman with Chrysanthemums." Neal laughed to himself when Peter's expression turned to one of confusion. "Edward Degas. It was one of his most famous paintings."

"That one wasn't on the manifest." Neal could see Peter trying to go through the list in his mind.

"It wouldn't be, it's housed at the Met." Neal was enjoying Peter's bafflement for the moment. "A little over eight years ago, Curtis came up with a plan to steal it."

"And, of course, you were involved." Peter's expression quickly turned to one of frustration. "So help me, Neal…"

"Hey, he never stole it. I never gave him the forgery. He wasn't able to get an inside man at the Met, their security was too good. He got frustrated with the timeline on the job, and let it slip one night, over a few glasses of wine, that he was just going to go in and kill the guards, and get the painting. I destroyed the forgery that night after he left, and he was never able to complete the job."

"I'm sure he was thrilled to hear that." Peter smiled a little; it was hard to envision Neal doing anything to destroy a painting.

"Yeah well, things were a little…let's say…precarious…there for a while. Until one day we heard he was shot to death by one of his 'clients'." Neal settled back into his chair, starting to feel a little more at ease.

"So what does he want with you now?"

"He wants me to finish his job."

"The museum heist!" Peter quickly caught himself and quieted his voice. "Neal…"

"Peter he threatened you…and _Elizabeth_. And, I do know Curtis. If I don't at least proceed like I'm going along with it, people are going to start getting hurt." Neal could see Peter slowly roll the idea around in his mind.

"Alright, go ahead, I'll work what I can from my side. We need something solid to charge him. But, I want to know everything that's going on. No secrets, Neal, or this won't work out well."

"I called you, didn't I?"

"Yeah you did." Peter smiled, and eased back into his chair. "What do you need?"

"I'm going to have to run some errands." Neal blue eyes lit up and he flashed his signature smile as the waitress brought their food. "And a few days to work."

.

Neal watched Peter get in his Taurus and leave before pulling out his phone and calling Mozzie. There was no way he was going to be able to get everything he needed without some help. He smiled to himself as he slowly meandered towards their meeting place; his day was looking better already. The thought of working for Curtis made him cringe, but he would be glad to be painting again. He absentmindedly eased his way through the crowded sidewalk, soaking up the warmth of the afternoon sun.

Suddenly someone reached out and pulled him into one of the narrow alleyways. Before he could find who had grabbed him, he was thrown face first into the side of the brick building. Pain fired through his body as he crumpled to the ground, shaking his head to clear his dazed vision. He could feel the warmth of blood slowly trickling down his face, and he wiped at his face carefully trying to find where it was coming from.

"You shouldn't have called your Fed friend." A foot slammed into the ribs on his left side. The man laughed when he barely fought back a scream as he felt them give way.

"I have to…check in…Curtis…or he'll…know…something's…up." Neal wiped the blood from his underneath his nose as he finally rested his eyes on his attacker. He saw the fist speeding towards him, but couldn't get his body moving fast enough before it slammed into his stomach, sending a wave of pain and nausea through him.

"You do anything more than that, and I won't be so understanding next time." Curtis grabbed his hair, pulling his head back and leaning closer. "Don't forget you owe me, Caffrey."

A fist slammed into stomach again, and his head was finally released. Neal curled himself into a ball, trying to ease the pain down. He could feel his body trying to drift out of consciousness, and he fought to stay awake. He decided staying on the ground was a bad idea, and had to force himself to get up, using the building to steady himself, slowly and painfully pushing himself to his feet with the cane. Once on his feet the world started spinning around him. He stumbled towards the daylight at the opening of the alleyway, only making it a few steps before the nausea overwhelmed him. The act of vomiting up his lunch confirmed the fact that his ribs were broken, his breaths coming in short painful bursts. The sudden lack of oxygen made him feel lightheaded, and he closed his eyes as he slid himself back down the wall, only half-aware of someone approaching from the street.

"Neal? Oh my god…"


	5. Chapter 5

I don't own White Collar, or the characters...blah...blah...blah... Please be kind...[review]...

Chapter Five

Neal could feel the pounding in his head as he started to wake; the bright afternoon light streaming through the windows gave him a headache as soon as he opened his eyes, and he squeezed them closed again. Had he really slept in this late? He realized he wasn't exactly sure what day it was, and he carefully opened his eyes just a slit, searching for the clock. When he didn't find it, he started to ease himself up onto his elbows, a wave of nausea instantly washing over him, and he clamped his eyes shut again, sucking in a few painful breaths through his clenched teeth.

"Neal?" The voice was vaguely familiar. Peter? No, it wasn't Peter. Mozzie? No, it wasn't him either. He contemplated opening his eyes to find out, but was deciding against it until he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Neal?"

Neal just starred at the man through the slits of his half opened eyes, for what seemed like a long minute, trying to place where he knew the face.

"Suit. He's awake." He recognized Mozzie's voice in the other room when he called to Peter, but still felt confused looking at the man in front of him.

"Neal, do you know what day it is?" The man eased himself down on the edge of the bed, pulling a small pen flash light out of his jeans pocket, shining the light into both of his eyes.

"Dr. Matthews?" Neal tried to pull away from the light; the pounding in his head was making it feel like it would explode.

"Yes. Neal, do you know what day it is?" The doctor kept his tone soft and genial.

"Tuesday." Neal realized it came out sounding more like a question than a statement. He saw Peter approach and stand just behind the doctor. "What's going on?"

"You don't remember?" Peter walked a few steps closer; his manner was one of concern.

"I was…we had lunch…" Neal furrowed his brow, trying to put together the bits and pieces that were floating around in his brain. "I was going to meet Mozz…"

"You never made it, man. I came looking for you, and found you half-conscious in an alleyway." Neal noticed Mozzie had moved into position at the foot of the bed. "You're getting heavy, by the way."

"Thanks…Mozz…" Neal looked at his friend slightly baffled, carefully easing himself back against the headboard, trying to wrap his head around how he had ended up in the alley. "Curtis…he jumped me."

"I told you to be careful of him…" Mozzie shook a finger at him, obviously agitated.

"What did you have for lunch?" Dr. Matthews laughed a little at Neal's confounded expression. "I need to assess your cognitive function."

"I had the tortellini salad." Neal and the doctor both glanced over to Peter who nodded in conformation.

"Alright, I'll leave you to rest." The doctor stood motioning for Peter to follow him to the apartment's entry door.

"Thanks for coming, Evan."

"No problem. He's got a grade two concussion, among the other injuries. He's not to be left alone for at least the next 24 hours. If anything changes, you call me."

"We'll do that."

Peter shut the door behind the doctor, and gazed back to where Neal and Mozzie were idly chatting. He stood, leaning on the door jam, watching them for a few minutes, until Neal finally turned as if looking for him.

"How'd I get up here?" Peter heard Neal asked to no one in particular.

"You walked. Well…most of the way." Mozzie chuckled to himself. "You refused to go to the hospital. I called the suit when you passed out on the third floor."

"I can't go to the hospital. I have to work." Neal ran a hand through his hair; his head was starting to spin. "Did you get the stuff?"

"No, Neal, I was a little preoccupied." Mozzie puffed up a little, showing his annoyance.

"Neal, this is stupid. How can you paint like this?" Peter finally spoke up; he was frustrated with this whole mess.

"How can I not, Peter? You want this to be Elizabeth next time?" He turned to Mozzie who was anxiously pacing back and forth at the end of the bed. "You have to go get the supplies."

"Fine, but I want it noted, that I'm doing this under protest." Mozzie held both hands up in a frustrated surrender. Peter waited for the little man to leave the apartment before turning his attention back to Neal.

"Does he do everything under protest?" Peter teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"Not usually." Neal slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed, having to stop for a moment and catch his breath, the shooting pain in his side reminding him of the broken ribs.

"Help me understand this. Why would Curtis beat you to hell, if he wants you to work for him?" Peter put a hand under Neal's arm, slowly helping him to his feet.

"He wanted to make sure I knew he was serious." Neal gave a shrug, making his whole body ache again. "He may have had a little pent up frustration he wanted to get out."

"A little? You took a header into a brick wall, Neal." He watched as Neal very carefully made his way over to his wardrobe, and pulled out some clean clothes.

"I hadn't noticed." Neal gave his best sarcastic grin, but the effort made a shot of pain run through his head. He reached up and ran a hand over his face, finding a small bandage taped over the bridge of his nose.

"Broke your nose." Peter said casually, pointing at Neal's face. Neal just grumbled in return, and slowly eased his way to the bathroom.

.

Neal was, understandably, not in the best of moods, and Peter had been more than glad to leave him in Mozzie's more than capable hands. The little man did have his ways of getting Neal on track. Now, he sat in his office going over what little information they had on Curtis Bault. The team had searched the alleyway where Neal had been found, but they hadn't come up with anything to prove without a doubt what had happened there. So far, they had nothing but Neal's word, that Curtis was indeed the one calling the shots. Hughes had spent the better part of an hour reminding him of that fact. He squeezed the bridge of his nose, trying to ease some of the tension. There was a brief knock on the door, and Agent Diana Barrigan appeared, carrying a slim file folder.

"We got the photos from the traffic cameras back." She pulled one of the photos out, and handed it across the desk to Peter. He found himself looking down at a digitally enhanced photo of Neal sitting at the café table across from Curtis Bault; what appeared to be the muzzle of a gun was visible in the Frenchman's lap. "We couldn't get anything from the alleyway."

"This is a start. At least we can confirm Neal's story."

"There's more. NYPD found a body, identified as Jackson Slade. Shot to death with a .45 in the back, at close range." Diana handed he file over to Peter. "Jackson was convicted three times for art forgery."

"That's our painter." Peter opened the file and scanned over it. "NYPD come back with any matches on the slug?"

"Not yet."

"Alright. Thanks, Diana." Peter kept scanning through the file, as he heard her turn and silently leave the office.

.

"I honestly don't know why you're doing this. Isn't it bad enough what he's done to you already?" Neal clenched his jaw and tried desperately to ignore Mozzie's continued ranting.

"I told you. Until Peter can connect Curtis to the thefts, this is the only way to keep everybody safe."

"Sure…because you look safe." Mozzie had taken it upon himself to suck down a little more than half of the bottle of Malbec that Neal had been saving for later. "Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead."

"Franklin? Really, Mozz? He won't come after me again." Neal limped carefully over to the table, replacing the cork in the wine bottle. "I just need him to think I'm playing along, until Peter comes up with something."

"Well, lets hope he finds something quickly." Mozzie meandered over to look at the canvas Neal had been working on. "These brush strokes leave a lot to be desired."


	6. Chapter 6

I don't own White Collar, or the characters...blah...blah...blah... Please be kind...[review]...

Chapter Six

Peter eased the door to Neal's apartment open; it was unusually silent, which Peter hoped meant that Neal was finally getting some sleep. As he tiptoed past the dining table he caught sight of the two men, Neal stretched out asleep on the couch, Mozzie passed out in one of the chairs close by to his friend. He dropped a file along with the photos of the paintings that Neal had requested down on the end of the dining table, and crept over to look at the canvas still sitting on the easel next to the terrace doors. Peter just felt baffled, standing there staring at the odd brightly colored shapes; the fact that people would cause all of this violence for a few red and yellow squares was beyond his comprehension. He wasn't sure how long he had been standing there when he felt a presence, and looked over to see Neal, leaning on one of the dinning chairs beside him watching with a smirk on his face.

"I don't get it. What is this…where's Waldo?"

"You got lost in it." Neal pointed out, with a slight twinkle in his eyes.

"That's what this is all about?"

"Sometimes." Neal shrugged as he picked up his paint palette and brushes, moving them out of the way.

"Jackson Slade. You know him?" Peter turned away from the painting, opening the file folder to reveal the painter's mug shot, sliding it across to Neal.

"The name is familiar." Neal picked up the file, studying the photo. "Shot in the back? That sounds like Curtis."

"Yeah? Where does that put you?" The more Peter learned about the man, the more he was concerned.

"With a concussion apparently." Neal replied sarcastically, trying to shrug it off.

"And two broken ribs, and a broken nose." Peter used an outstretched finger to make a motion to Neal's other injuries. "What can you tell me about Slade?"

"Not much. I'll see what I can find out." Neal's thoughts wandered to Alex, who they had yet to hear back from.

"Yeah, you do that." Peter let his gaze slide over to where Mozzie still sat. "What's up with him?"

"The Malbec never sits well with him." Neal shook his head. "He'll be fine in the morning."

"Alright, keep in touch." Peter looked exasperatedly at Neal, in response to his playful look of denial. "I don't want to be scraping you up off the sidewalk again."

Neal kept quiet, keeping his most innocent look on his face; he needed more information, and he was going to have to get in contact with Alex. That was always a delicate proceeding, given that Alex was still wary of dealing with Peter, even though he had helped her get out of the country the last time she was in trouble.

"Tell Alex, Ciao, for me." Peter smiled at Neal's astonished look, turning and heading for the door, leaving Neal standing there confounded.

.

Neal sat casually sipping on his Crown Royal, keeping one eye on the clock on his cell phone that was lying on the bar in front of him. Alex had been late before, but this was pushing it; he was past annoyance, and moving firmly into concern. He felt the tension start to ease off when he finally caught a glimpse of her making her way through the crowd towards him, but the relief was short lived. He couldn't help but smile to himself, as he took in her familiar scent, as she took the seat next to him. Her curly auburn hair wildly flowed down around her shoulders, but under her make up he could see the start of a deep purple bruise starting to come up on the right side of her face. He gently reached a hand up, carefully placing it under her chin and turning her head so he could get a better view.

"Curtis?" He knew the answer, and he felt a pang of guilt run through him. "I…"

"What the hell did you get me into, Caffrey?" She lashed out at him. He stayed quiet for a minute, sliding the extra glass of whiskey he had ordered over to her. She took a sip, running her eyes over him. "You look like crap."

"Feels about the same."

"Obviously you've seen Curtis as well…" She sent him a wry smile. "What was it you couldn't say over the phone?"

"I need you to look into this." He pushed a folded piece of paper, that contained the painter's name on it, over towards her. He watched as she slowly unfolded and read it.

"What's your interest in him?" Curiosity, as always, had gotten the better of her.

"He's dead."

"You think Curtis killed him?" Neal nodded in response.

"So does Peter." He made his expression as somber as he could. "I think I'm his replacement."

"You need to be careful, Neal. Curtis is the kind to hold on to a grudge."

"I'm well aware of that fact." He motioned to the stitches on the bridge of his nose. "Why'd he go after you?"

"You asked me to find out what I could on him." She gave her shoulders a little shrug. "He found me instead. He said to tell you, that he knows."

"What does he know?" She gave him a perplexed look, gesturing her uncertainty with her free hand.

"He didn't say, but I did get the feeling he planned on paying you another visit." Alex gulped down the last of her drink, and set the glass down on the bar, standing to leave. "Be careful, Neal."

He was filled with regret as he watched her go; he had never intended to get her hurt in any of this. As rocky as their relationship had always been, he did in his way, still care for her. He motioned to the bartender, and ordered himself another drink.

.

Peter sat looking out the glass in the front of his office. From up here, he could see almost all of the junior agents' desks below him, including the one that Neal usually sat at. Today Neal's desk was empty, as it had been for the last six weeks. He wasn't sure why it felt so odd, and he couldn't get rid of the feeling that something wasn't right. Neal had seemed almost himself last night; something that he hadn't been in a while. Peter tried to stuff the ill feeling to the back of his mind, as he scanned over the files on the case another time. He recognized the painting Neal had been working on, in one of the crime scene photos; marveling at how easily and quickly Neal had been able to recreate it. He decided to go have another talk with the museum's security guard, and scooped up the files and his coat, and headed out of the office.

"Suit." The voice startled him, as it rang out quietly in the parking garage, but the body that belonged to it was no where in sight. Finally he saw a little man emerge from the far side of his Taurus, his face hidden behind sunglasses and a hat that was firmly pulled down to his nose.

"Jesus…Mozzie. What are you doing here?"

"It's about Neal."

"What about Neal?" Peter could feel his own frustration started to build up, as he watched the man agitatedly shift his weight from foot to foot. "Come on, spit it out."

"Well…I think…I sort of lost him."

"Alight, get in the car." Peter couldn't hold the annoyance back any longer when he saw the scowl on Mozzie's face. "Get in the car, Mozzie. You can tell me about it on the way back to June's."

Peter could see a little war play itself out on the man's face, and he couldn't help but laugh silently to himself. In the end, he knew Mozzie would do anything to help Neal.

"I know, Mozz, you're only doing it under protest." Peter stayed quiet as he eased the car out of the parking garage and into the morning traffic.

"He never came back last night." Mozzie finally spoke after a few blocks of silence.

"Damn it. He wasn't supposed to go anywhere." Peter slammed a fist down on the steering wheel, before pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.

"I talked with Alex, they met up at the Underground last night. But he never made it back, I've been there all night."

"That's only a block away. You're telling me he disappeared in one city block?" Peter dialed the phone through the car's SYNC system, and they sat in silence while the call went through.

"This is Peter Burke, FBI. I need the location of detention tracking anklet 9305 Alpha, Neal Caffrey."

"Just one moment…Agent Burke? I have him located at 87 Riverside Drive." Peter hung up the phone, not sure whether to be angry or relieved. He looked over at Mozzie, who looked back at him with shared confusion.

"I just left there. He wasn't there." Mozzie defended.

"Something's going on, and I don't like it." Peter sped the car up, unable to stuff the uneasy feeling down any longer.


	7. Chapter 7

I don't own White Collar, or the Characters...blah...blah...blah... Please be kind...re[view]...

**A/N: I know, I know...it's short... but I know you guys are probably itching for an update, and this just seemed like a good place to break -) Yes, I am evil. **

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Chapter Seven

Neal leaned his aching body against the sink, as he carefully dabbed a washcloth at the dried blood on his lower lip, taking a mental inventory of his new injuries. Luckily, Curtis had stayed away from his face for the most part. He was pretty sure Curtis had cracked a few more ribs at the very least. He slowly drew in a long breath, shuddering as the pain shot up through his body as he choked on the air coming in. He clenched his hands on either side of the sink as he coughed, bringing more blood up from his lungs. He closed his eyes for a moment to steady himself, trying to remember what had led up to this.

_He could feel is head start to spin a little from the combination of alcohol and painkillers, but at least all the aches and pains were finally dulled down. He finished the last sip of his whiskey, easing himself of off the barstool, steadying himself with one hand on the bar. He carefully smoothed his suit coat, and adjusted his fedora, before transferring his weight over to his cane. He knew that Mozzie would be concerned if he woke up to find that he hadn't returned yet, and he gingerly wound his way through the tables and out onto the street. The night air was crisp and cool, and he watched the cars pass by on the street, as he stopped to zip his jacket closed._

He was starting to regret the second glass of Crown; combined with his pain medication, it was making everything hazy. Although, he laughed to himself, he would take another glass or two now. The three flights of stairs up had been brutal, and he had been glad to find that Mozzie wasn't still here waiting for him; he wasn't in the mood for a lecture. He stumbled his way out of the bathroom, opting for the couch instead of trying to climb up into the bed. Once he had eased his body down, he wasn't sure he'd made the right choice. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, trying to suck in a few shallow breaths as another round of tremors racked his body. Once his body had relaxed, and he could breath a little more easily, he tried again to recount what had happened.

_He knew it was late, because the sidewalk and the street were nearly disserted. He slowly walked along the familiar block back towards June's house, thinking about what Alex had told him. He must have been lost in this thought, because he hadn't noticed he was being followed. Maybe the clicking of the cane had covered up the sound of the footsteps behind him, but they had been there. He wasn't exactly sure how long he had been followed, but as he approached the house, he was pushed to the ground in the small alley behind it._

_"Make a sound, and I'll kill you now." He felt a hand on the back of his shoulder holding him down; the cold touch of something metal caressed his neck._

_"Curtis…" Neal barely got the name out when his head was jerked back by his hair._

_"You're a bloody turncoat, Caffrey. Never did I think I would see the day." Curtis pushed him over, rolling him onto his back, the knife in his hand glinting in the moonlight._

_"I…"_

_"Shut up…" The man hissed, letting his empty hand connect with the left side of Neal's face, snapping his head sideways. "You think you can con me, Caffrey? Thought I wouldn't know that you and you're Fed buddy were investigating me? You thought you could stall just long enough didn't you?"_

_His whole body tensed as the knife was stroked along his jaw line._

_"I've had just about enough of you." Curtis stood. Neal couldn't roll his body out of the way fast enough, and the foot that was flying toward him connected violently with his side. "You convince your keeper to back off, and you finish those paintings, Caffrey, or so help me…"_

_Curtis let his foot fly into his ribs again, before bending back over to look Neal in his half-closed eyes, running the blade of the knife under his jaw one more time._

_"La prochaine fois l'épouse est morte." Curtis stood and walked a few steps before turning back to face him. "Two days, Caffrey."_

Neal gingerly wrapped an arm around his torso, carefully cradling himself as he took slow shallow breaths. He wasn't sure what to tell Peter, or if he should tell Peter. He decided it could wait a few hours at least; he felt himself start to drift out of consciousness, and didn't want to fight it any longer.

.

"Damn it. Why won't he answer his phone?" Peter pounded on the steering wheel, as the traffic they were stuck in finally started moving again. The drive across town had been painfully slow, and it was wearing on Peter's last nerve.

"He didn't answer the ten times I called, either." Mozzie just folded his arms across his chest. He was more than ready to get out of this car. Peter looked over at the little bald man, and couldn't help but smile. He knew what a big step this was for Mozzie, and Peter knew he would blame himself for whatever had happened to Neal. Peter just hoped for all of their sakes that Neal was all right.

Peter found a spot to park a little ways down from June's house and trotted hastily across the street, Mozzie following closely behind him. He could tell that Mozzie could barely stand still as they waited for the housekeeper to open the door and let them in. Peter caught sight of June coming out of the library, as they crossed through the foyer.

"Good Morning, Peter." June was just as relaxed and charming as ever, and it only perplexed him more.

"June…is Neal home?" He asked apprehensively.

"I heard him come in about half an hour ago. You were looking for him earlier, weren't you?" He could see the confusion on her face as she turned to Mozzie. "Is everything alright?"

"Is now." Peter tried to give her a charming, reassuring smile, as he pointed Mozzie up the stairs.

Peter knocked loudly on the apartment door, calling out Neal's name when he didn't hear any movement within. Impatience getting the better of him, he reached down and opened the door, letting himself in. The apartment looked exactly as it had the previous night when he had left. He called out again as they entered, scanning around for Neal. He motioned for Mozzie to stay by the door as he slowly crossed over towards the living room. He could hear Neal's slow wheezy breathing as he rounded the end of the couch, catching sight of the dark bruise that was creeping up on his painfully skewed face.

"Damn it, Neal." He cursed under his breath, which had Mozzie running worriedly into the room. Peter eased himself down onto the coffee table across from Neal, gently laying a hand on his shoulder, trying to wake him. "Neal? Come on, buddy. Time to wake up."

"NEAL?" When his efforts to wake his unconscious partner were fruitless, he pulled out his cell phone, turning to Mozzie as he dialed. "Keep trying to wake him."

"This is Special Agent Burke, FBI. I need an ambulance at 87 Riverside Drive."


	8. Chapter 8

I don't own White Collar, or the Characters...blah...blah...blah... Please be kind...re[view]...

**A/N: We got a bunch of snow the last few days... Bad news for my clients, good news for my readers! ;-) Maybe we'll get through a few more...**

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Chapter Eight

Peter found himself sitting, once again, alone in the emergency room waiting area. Mozzie had refused to come along, his concern for his friend some how hadn't out weighed his hatred for this place. Although, Peter thought to himself, it wasn't hard for him to understand the sentiment, he was truly growing a deep disdain for the hospital as well. They had certainly spent more than their share of time within these pale yellow walls the last few months. It was a little disconcerting that a good number of nurses had recognized him as he had come in with the ambulance. There was some comfort in the fact that the EMTs had been able to wake Neal, and this was only a precautionary trip, but Peter was still worried. Neal had babbled on incoherently about Curtis and the paintings the whole way over, but none of it had made much sense. Although, Peter had noticed that every time Neal had mentioned Elizabeth, he had gotten quite agitated. Remembering Curtis' previous threats, it had been enough for him to send Jones over to look after her.

"Agent Burke?" Peter smiled a little as he recognized the voice, and turn in his chair to face where it had come from. "Dr. Matthews is on his way down to talk to you."

"Thank you, Meredith." Peter nodded to the little blonde nurse.

"Say hi to Neal for me?" She sent him a charming smile, before turning and leaving. Peter couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Leave it to Neal to flirt in a hospital.

He pulled out his phone, noting that Jones had sent him a note to let him know that he was with Elizabeth. Peter felt a small sense of relief, knowing that she was safe. He quickly sent a text back, letting them know that he would call as soon as he knew anything. He heard soft footsteps behind him and stuffed the phone back into his pocket. Dr. Matthews casually eased himself down into one of the plastic chairs next to Peter, staying quite for a moment. He was dressed in green surgical scrubs and white lab coat. Peter noticed he was looking haggard, and concluded that he must be near the end of his shift.

"His head CT came back clean, so that's good news." The doctor finally let his fatigued eyes drift over to look at Peter, as he stretched his legs out and crossed his feet. "The x-rays show he's got three broken ribs. Two show some granulation, so they're probably from the other day, one looks fresh, most likely from last night. The blood on his lips is from his lungs; he has a contusion under the rib fractures. I'm going to have him admitted for the night, just for observation."

Peter nodded, allowing the companionable silence to linger for a moment.

"You going home?" Peter saw a slight smirk creep across the doctor's face.

"Oh, man…I wish. No, I'm here for the next 24." His smirk turned into an easy smile as he saw Peter's surprise. "We had a nasty car accident come in last night. It was a hell of a night."

The doctor rolled his head, cracking his neck, and sat in silence for a moment.

"What was he doing out, Peter?"

"He snuck out to met up with a friend who had some important information on a case we're working." The doctor nodded, quietly processing the information. "Well, he's in quite the irritable mood."

"I figured he would be. Thanks, Evan." Peter stood as the doctor did, and shook his hand.

"Room 322. I'll see you later." Peter watched the doctor leave before pulling his phone back out to send Jones and Elizabeth a note. Knowing Neal, irritable might be understating it a little. Peter knew Neal was going to be livid about being stuck here tonight.

.

Peter heard a jovial female voice coming from inside Neal's room as he approached, and he rolled his eyes; he knew Neal well enough to know that the good humor wouldn't last long once he was in the room. He slowly blew out a breath, preparing himself for the fight he knew was coming, as he reached out and opened the door. There was a cute brunette wearing purple scrubs sitting on the foot of Neal's bed as Peter walked in. He knew she wasn't paying him any attention, but he saw the quick flash of temper cross Neal's face before it was expertly covered over with a winning smile.

"Peter." Neal was careful to keep his tone casual.

"Will you excuse us?" Peter smiled to the nurse, and waited for her to leave the room before turning his attention to Neal. "Dr. Matthews is keeping you here for the night."

"He told me." Neal no longer felt the need to hide his annoyance. "I can't stay here, Peter."

"You can, and you will." Peter pulled a chair over closer to the bed, and lowered himself into it. "What the hell happened, Neal?"

"Curtis…" Neal saw the frustration flash across Peter's face. He knew in that instant, he didn't have to continue with the gory details, Peter had somehow already known. "He knows we're investigating him…He threatened Elizabeth again."

Peter couldn't do anything but stare at Neal for a moment. The 'we' in that sentence had caught him off guard.

"She's safe, Jones is with her." Peter leaned forward in his chair and looked right into Neal's eyes. "We're going to have to find another way to catch him, Neal. This has gotten out of hand."

"There is no other way, Peter. Have you found _anything_?" Peter heard the heart monitor's beeping hasten a little, before slowing again.

"We will…" Peter shifted uncomfortably in his chair; he knew he couldn't hide the fact that they had next to nothing from Neal. He just wasn't sure he wanted to talk about it right now.

"You're going to have to let me off my anklet. Curtis…" Neal stopped short when he caught Peter's disapproving look. "You don't trust me…"

"Not, to not get killed. I'm not letting you get anywhere near that psychopath." Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and slowly let out a breath, before continuing. "Let's both get a good nights sleep, and we'll figure this out in the morning, alright?"

Neal quietly nodded in response, and Peter was glad to let the subject drop. As they sat in silence for a few minutes, Peter could tell that Neal was still brooding over the matter.

"I have to finish this, Peter. He'll kill her." Neal's voice was low and shaky, and his eyes looked afflicted, which was unsettling to Peter. "Elizabeth, he said he'd kill her."

"She's safe, Neal." Peter looked into Neal's pleading eyes. "This is not you're doing. We'll get to the bottom of all of this, but you can't honestly tell me you think that this is the best way to do it."

"I don't think it's the best way." Peter could see the temper rise on Neal's face. "I think it's the only way."

Neal clutched at his side as a coughing fit sent pain tearing through his body. Peter started towards him, but Neal just waved him off as he spit the blood out into a tissue. No way in hell, Peter told himself, was he letting Neal anywhere near Curtis; he had the sneaking suspicion that Curtis had no intention of letting Neal live, once he had completed the paintings.

"Neal, you once told me, 'there's always another way'. We'll find it. You just rest tonight."

Neal eased himself back onto the pillows, silently watching Peter as he tried to catch his breath. He wasn't going to let Elizabeth get hurt, not from anything he had caused. He knew he would have to somehow get away from Peter's watchful sentry.


	9. Chapter 9

I don't own White Collar, or the Characters...blah...blah...blah... Please be kind...re[view]...

**A/N: A big thank to everybody who leaves me a review. I know I don't usually respond to them, but I do read ALL of them, and I LOVE hearing from you guys. It really does brighten my day! **

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Chapter Nine

"Really, Peter. We'll be fine." Neal tried to sound as convincing as he could. The thought of being stuck at the Burke's house once again was a little aggravating; if he could just persuade Peter to head back to the office, he would have a better chance of sneaking out.

"Fine. But, Jones is staying here." Peter gave a wry smile as he saw Neal crinkle his face in frustration. There were things he trusted with Neal and things he didn't, and Neal not going and doing something stupid didn't seem too far from reality. "Be careful, it might get stuck that way."

Neal let himself flop unceremoniously down onto the couch, and instantly regretted it, clutching at his fractured ribs. He saw Peter look down at him complacently, before turning and leaving. He slowly blew out an aching breath once he was alone in the room; as Peter had reminded him at the hospital last night, there was always another way. He would just have to find it.

.*~*~*~*~*.

Peter found himself distracted by Neal's empty desk again. The knowledge that Jones was keeping an eye on things did little to dissuade his nagging feeling of dread. He wondered if it wouldn't have been better to drag Neal along, just to keep an eye on him, himself. Peter hadn't wanted to leave the house this morning, but Hughes had insisted on a briefing; one that had lasted nearly two hours. Neal's continued instance on moving forward with this whole charade had him concerned, and he knew he needed to come up with a new plan quickly, in order to satiate his partner. Neal was not the kind to sit around and do nothing, even if it meant doing something he shouldn't, Peter had learned that much about him. He also knew, as well as Neal, that they were getting close to Curtis' deadline, and didn't have much to show for it. Deciding that he could work from home, now that his meeting was over, he stood and boxed up all the files on the case.

"Going home?" Diana asked as he passed her desk.

"Yeah. Call me if you come up with anything." He slipped out of the office and rode the elevator down in silent thought.

.*~*~*~*~*.

"Neal, stop brooding and come help us." Elizabeth playfully called from the kitchen. When she didn't get an answer, she left Jones in the kitchen and headed out to the living room to check on Neal. She found him still sitting on the sofa, exactly as he had been since Peter had left. She sat down next to him, laying a motherly hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong, Neal?"

"This thing…I…" Neal couldn't find a good way to say it. If Curtis had really been watching him as closely as it seemed, than Curtis would know where he was, and would also know he wasn't working on the paintings. Neal knew things were getting ready to go bad, he could feel it. "Nevermind."

"Neal, sweetie. You guys will figure this out." Neal just looked at her, his blue eyes haunted with a knowledge he wouldn't share. She stood, but stayed facing him, holding out her hand to invite him to follow her. "Come on, we're going to make some lunch."

Neal nodded silently, and reluctantly took her hand, easing himself up of the couch. He eyed the cane laying on the coffee table, and decided against it. He carefully hobbled from one piece of furniture to another, letting Elizabeth steady him as they went. By the time they had reached the dining table, he was regretting leaving the cane behind, as the added strain of trying to walk without it was making his ribs ache. He stopped, clutching the back of one of the dining chairs, to catch his breath. Elizabeth's blue eyes held a motherly concern as she stood next to him. A loud thump came from the kitchen, startling them, and making Neal's stomach turn with fear. He limped over to the door, slowly swinging it open, holding Elizabeth back at an arm's length.

"Jones?" Neal shifted his weight back in surprise as he came face to face with a silenced Sig Sauer.

.*~*~*~*~*.

Peter was grateful that the ride across town had been fairly quick, the traffic unusually light for a change. He parked the Taurus in front of his townhouse, and went about gathering his belongings and the box of files, before heading up the stairs. He was a little surprised that the door didn't open when he got to the landing, but figured everyone must be asleep. He skillfully balanced the box on his leg, digging for the keys he had dropped back into his pants pocket. As he turned the key in the deadbolt, he was puzzled to find it already unlocked. He put the box and his belongings down on the stoop, and put a hand on his gun, flipping open the thumb catch before cautiously opening the door.

"El? Neal?" The house looked exactly as he had left it a few hours before, except it was remarkably quiet.

He pulled his gun from its holster under his left arm and swept the living and dining room area, before creeping down the hallway towards the kitchen. He reached out and slowly pushed the kitchen door open, feeling in run into something that shouldn't have been there. His stomach turned, dread and fear creeping over him, as he stepped through the doorway, leading with his Glock out in front of him. As he entered, he looked around to find what the door had run into. He cursed as his eyes rested on Jones; the junior agent was lying in the middle of the floor on his side, blood trickling down the side of his head. He crouched, feeling for a pulse, relieved when the younger agent appeared to be starting to regain consciousness.

"Peter?" The younger man looked up at him with dazed eyes.

"Hold still, Jones." Peter put a hand on his agent's shoulder.

"I'm fine." Jones eased himself up to a sitting position and leaned against the cabinets behind him. "Caffrey and Elizabeth?"

"I don't know." Peter rocked back on his heals, pulling out his cell phone to call an ambulance. "Stay here."

Once the ambulance was on it's way, he headed back towards the front of the house, and up the stairs. He confirmed his own fears, not finding Neal or his wife anywhere in the house, and headed back to check on Jones. He found Jones sitting in a chair at the dining table, and was headed that way when his phone rang and startled him. He was relieved to see that it was Diana.

"_Boss. The Marshals just called. Caffrey's anklet went offline."_

_.*~*~*~*~*._

Neal could feel that his body was laying on a cold hard surface, as his mind started to come out of the fog it was in. His eyes felt heavy, and he struggled to open them, blinking at the darkness he was surrounded by. He was only vaguely aware that his arms were tightly secured behind him, as he lay on his side. He felt lightheaded, and told himself to breathe, gasping as the air finally flowed into his lungs. He closed his eyes again, as he became aware of voices approaching, and let his body slump forward. He heard what sounded like a door slide open behind him, and the voices got louder.

"Boss said to come here, sit around for an hour, then cut the thing off his leg, and then head back to the warehouse. So that's what we're gonna do."

"It don't make no sense."

"I don't care. If that's what the boss wants, then that's what the boss gets. Now get in there and cut the thing off."

Neal couldn't suppress the moan as his left leg was roughly jerked out from under him.

"Shit. He's wakin' up."

"Cut the damn thing off, and I'll get more juice."

Neal tried to struggle free as he felt his anklet removed, desperately trying to clear his blurry vision to see the figure that was crouched down at his feet. A second figure approached from behind, placing a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him still. He felt his body jerk as something sharp was shoved into his arm, and then his arm felt like it was on fire. He struggled against the hands that held him down as the burning sensation worked its way up his arm, and he started feeling dizzy.

"Nnn…ooo…" His voice was barely audible, as he felt his eyes roll back in his head.

"Quiet down." Neal felt something sticky placed over his lips, his body felt cold and numb, but there was no pain as his mind drifted back into the darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

I don't own White Collar, or the charachers... blah...blah...blah... Please be kind...re[view]...

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Chapter Ten

Peter let his gaze wonder out to the street as he listened to the manager of the café talk about the van that had sat outside for over an hour. He shook his head at the incompetence of the man, his own frustration welling up.

"But, you're sure it was maroon?" Peter tried to stay professional.

"Well, either that or brown…I guess it could have been purple…" The man shifted uncomfortably under Peter's stare.

"But you're sure it didn't have any windows in the back." Peter could almost envision himself reaching over and choking the life out of the man.

"That, I'm sure about." The man wrung his hands, and nervously wiped them down the front of his pants.

"And, there were two men?" It was the third time they had gone through the story, but the details never seem to stay quiet the same.

"Yeah…yeah…two men. One of them was big and heavy." The manager's face brightened, looking for praise from the agent.

"And the other was short and skinny?" Peter asked, almost regretting the question.

"Yeah…that's right." The manager eagerly nodded. "Oh…oh…I almost forgot. The little one came in and bought two sandwhiches."

"Good, ok, now we're getting somewhere. How did he pay?" Peter felt like he was talking to a child.

"With a credit card." The manager's face was blank for a moment, and then finally Peter could see the realization set in. "You want the numbers?"

Peter nodded and watched the man disappear into the back. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He had wasted almost an hour talking to this guy, and all this time, he had a credit card slip. The man returned and handed the slip to Peter, his heart sank as he read the name.

"Clinton Jones? You've got to be kidding me." Peter handed the slip back to the manager. "I guess you didn't check his I.D."

"My cashier's always check I.D." The manager puffed up in defense.

"Yeah, right. Clinton Jones was unconscious on the floor of my kitchen when that purchase was made." Peter watched a dumbfounded expression cross the manager's face; he could hardly believe how the day was going.

.*~*~*~*~*.

Neal sucked in a breath of air, coughing as it filled his lungs. Somebody was shaking him, and he could hear a familiar voice. His mind felt hazy, and he couldn't seem to make himself open his eyes. He forced himself to take another breath, feeling the ache of his broken ribs starting to come back. Finally one eye opened just a slit, and he could see he was in a small dimly lit room.

"Neal…please…Neal…" The familiar female voice begged to him. He tried to think of whom it could be; his thoughts still clouded by the drug he had been given. He managed to get the other eye open, finding a woman sitting on the floor next to him, tears streaming down her face.

"Neal? Please wake up." The woman shook him again.

"I…I'm…up…" His voice sounded hoarse as it came out, and his mouth felt dry. He started to sit up, but his head started spinning, and he decided against it for the moment. He stared up at the red-rimmed blue eyes that looked down at him, trying to figure out who they belonged to. "El?"

The woman nodded, and gave a little smile.

"Where are we?" He shifted so that his arms were under him, and pushed himself to his knees, stopping to let the dizziness subside before sitting upright.

"I…I don't know." He could hear in her voice the sobs that were barely being held back.

"Are you alright?" She nodded in response, and he let his gaze sweep around the room, looking for a clue as to their location.

The room was small, and dark with no windows. The floor was concrete, and two walls were made out of brick, the other two were covered with wood paneling. There was a door on the far wall, and a single bare bulb hanging down from the ceiling. The walls were bare, and other than Elizabeth and himself, there wasn't anything else in the room. He eased himself back to his hands and knees, slowly and cautiously crawling over towards the door. He listened for a moment, until he heard footsteps, and he crawled back to where Elizabeth was sitting, holding up a finger to his lips to tell her to keep quiet.

"Someone's coming." He whispered into her ear.

Neal wasn't sure he'd ever felt so vulnerable before in his life. He wanted to run, but there was no where to run to. He wanted to protect Elizabeth, but he had nothing to protect her with. All they could do was sit there and wait for whoever was on the other side of the door to come after them. Neal assumed it had to be Curtis, or someone who worked for him. He could feel the fear washing over him as the door slowly opened, admitting two dark figures before it was closed behind them. Neal instinctively moved his body between the encroaching figures and Elizabeth, trying to shield her.

"The boss would like to see you." The larger of the two men stepped forward. Neal squinted his eyes to try and see the man better, his vision still a little blurry from the drugs.

"Just exactly who is that, your boss?" The second man approached, moving towards Elizabeth, and Neal could just make out a gun in his hand. "Leave her out of this, she has nothing to do with this."

"We'll see about that." The big man grabbed Neal by the arm, dragging him to his feet, sending a wave of the temporarily absent pain searing back through his body. Neal impulsively tried to pull away, only to loose his balance. The man's fingers dug harshly into his arm before he could catch himself.

"You have to play nice." Neal heard Elizabeth scream behind him as he caught sight of the taser in the man's hand.

"No need…" The pain shot through his body as all his muscles spasmed uncontrollably. He was barely conscious of the second man grabbing his other arm as they started dragging him towards the door. He could feel the darkness coming again, and he gratefully gave in.

.*~*~*~*~*.

Peter didn't bother to hide his annoyance as he strode into the Emergency room. He glanced around, looking for a familiar face. Disappointed, he headed for the receptionist. The girl sitting behind the desk was younger, and Peter thought, frail looking. Her hair was dyed an unnatural shade of red. Her pale complexion was intensified by the even lighter make up she had caked onto her skin and the dark eyeliner around her almost gray eyes. Peter's mind flashed back to the incompetent manager he had just left, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes. He could tell his day wasn't going to get any better.

"Amy, is it?" Peter read her nametag, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. The nurse smiled and looked up at him.

"How can I help you, Mr…" Peter pulled his badge out, making a cognizant effort not to smack it down on the desk.

"It's agent. Special Agent Peter Burke. One of my junior agents was brought here about an hour ago. I need to check on his condition." Peter hoped if he kept his tone professional, he would be able to check back the anger that was building in him.

"Alright, what's his name?"

"Clinton Jones." The girl turned to her computer, and tapped on a few keys. Peter saw the frustration cross her face.

"Is there a problem, Amy?" Peter was starting to have a hard time holding his emotions back.

"I…I don't…" The girl frantically tapped a few more keys, and Peter could hear the tone of her voice start to waver. "Sorry, I'm new. Just…hold on…"

"Peter!"

The familiar voice behind him instantly made him relax, and he smiled and turned to find himself face to face with Jones. He pointed to the younger agent and looked over his shoulder at the little nurse.

"Clinton Jones." Peter saw the nurse nod, and felt a little bad as he caught a glimpse of the wetness building up in her eyes. He gave her a comforting smile. "It's alright. We found him."

"Peter. Did you go up to the café?" Peter brought his attention back to his agent in front of him, mentally scanning him up and down. Other than a few stitches along his hairline, he looked fine.

"Yeah. Two men sat in a van sat outside for about an hour, ate a sandwich and then disappeared. Oh, and I know what happened to your wallet."

"Great." Peter could hear the sarcasm in Jones' voice. "Any leads on the van?"

"Only that it's a brown, maybe maroon, or purple, large van with no windows in the back." Peter rolled his neck on his shoulders, trying to alleviate the tension. "Where's Diana?"

"She's coming. She ran down to the pharmacy. Sounds like we struck out on the van, there must be a million of those in the city."

"I know. We're headed back to the office to meet up with the team."


	11. Chapter 11

I don't own White Collar, or the Characters... blah...blah...blah... Please be kind...re[view]...

**A/N: I hope you guys are all enjoying these daily updates, it's making the chapters a little on the short side, but hey, why make you wait? Right?**

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Neal clamped his eyelids tighter; the bright light from above was making his already pounding head hurt that much more. As he became more aware of himself, he realized he was sitting in a chair, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. He brought both hands up to shade his eyes, pressing his thumbs into his temples and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He sucked in a painful breath through his clenched teeth, starting to become aware of the aching in the rest of his body. He took one hand off his head to absently itch at the burning sensation in his right arm, as he tried to recall where he was; not wanting to open his eyes and induce the migraine that was trying to materialize. In the back of his mind he knew something was amiss, the room felt wrong. He remembered being at Peter's with Elizabeth. Right, Elizabeth. His breath hitched and he opened his eyes as he jerked his head up, scanning around the room as best he could.

"Glad you could join us." Neal felt himself tense at the familiar voice.

"Curtis. Where's Elizabeth?" Neal kept scanning the room, squinting into the shadows around the edges to find where the man was hiding.

"She's alright…for now." Curtis appeared out of the shadows in front of him, walking slowly towards him with a Ruger in his hand. Curtis stopped a few feet away; keeping the gun aimed at Neal.

"Let her go, this is just between you and I." Neal instinctively settled himself as far back into the chair as he could.

"Always trying to be the hero. No, she stays. Let's just say, for…motivational purposes." The man let an evil grin sweep across his face.

"What do you want?" Neal hissed as the pain from his fractured ribs become more evident as all the drugs left his system.

"I want what you owe me, Neal." The man's eyes squinted as his face turned dark and menacing. "That little stunt you pulled cost me eight years of my life."

"All this, over a painting." Neal scoffed, obviously irritating the man in front of him.

"You cost me everything." The man rushed forward, the hand holding the gun colliding fiercely with the side of Neal's head. Neal felt the sticky warmth of blood starting to drip down the side of his face, as the barrel of the gun was pressed to his temple. "Now, I'm going to return the favor."

Neal could feel himself starting to loose consciousness, and was only vaguely aware of another person entering the room. He felt the second man grab his arm, and he jerked as he felt the needle pressed in. There was no burning sensation this time, and Neal felt his whole body relax as he slipped painlessly back into the darkness.

"_I have to say, Neal, that is a masterpiece." The man raised his wine glass._

"_Thank you, Curtis." He clinked glasses with the Frenchman, as they stood back admiring the forgery he had just completed. "When's the job?" _

"_Soon enough. Nothing you need to worry your pretty head over. Here's your money." Curtis handed him a manila envelope, which he slipped into the inside pocket of his jacket. "Now let's celebrate."_

The memory faded, and he found himself lying in a hospital bed, Peter looking down at him with his fatigued brown eyes.

"_I __would have lost Elizabeth if it weren't for you_. _You have my trust." He felt his body relax as he listened to his mentor's words. "For Christ's sake…don't screw this up."_

The imaged disappeared and he saw nothing but blackness.

He could feel his body tremble, and he was suddenly aware of how cold he was. He licked at his lips, subconsciously trying to wet his dry mouth; the metallic taste of blood still lingered. An overwhelming feeling of panic started to rise in him, and he scrambled to push himself into a sitting position, as he let his eyes dart around the unfamiliar space.

"Neal?" A hand came to rest on his shoulder from behind and it was warm and familiar. He recognized Elizabeth's voice, and the realization of where they were came flooding back to him.

"I'm fine." He brushed her hand off, pushing himself to his feet and backing slowly away a few steps, confused by the absence of the pain in his hip. He didn't feel like himself; his heart was racing in his chest.

"Neal…what's wrong?"

"Nothing… I'm…fine. How long was I out?" He leaned against the wall, trying to calm himself.

"About an hour." He could hear the fear in her voice. "Are you sure you're alright? You look pale."

"I'm fine. You alright?" Elizabeth silently nodded.

Suddenly the door on the far side of the room opened, and Curtis emerged from the shadows, followed by the man Neal recognized as the one who had tased him earlier. He also noticed that Curtis was still hiding behind his Ruger.

"You can dispense with the gun, Curtis." Neal held up his hands in submission.

"No, thank you. Since I know you can get out of any restraints I put you in, why should I bother? Mr. Ruger here will insure that you play nice." He motioned to the man next to him, and then to Elizabeth.

Neal heard her scream as the man grabbed her, and started forward towards her when Curtis waved the gun a little closer.

"uh...uh... I wouldn't if I were you."

Neal watched helplessly as the man wrapped one arm tightly around her; picking her kicking and screaming form up off the ground, wrapping the other hand around her mouth to quiet her. Neal kept one eye on the gun as he watched her dragged from the room.

"Now that we're alone, we can get down to business." Another smaller man, Neal didn't recognize, came through the door carrying an easel, a canvas, and a small duffel bag. Curtis made a motioned to the man and he dropped the supplies on the floor, dumping the contents out of the duffel bag.

"The Degas, Neal." Curtis pointed to the canvas that was now lying on the floor. He motioned for the little man to leave, and he backed towards the door, keeping the gun pointed on Neal. "Oh, and I would hurry if I were you. I hear the withdrawal from that drug we gave you earlier is a bitch."

Neal waited for the door to shut, and he heard the locks on the other side engage with a few loud clicks. He scanned around the dim room again, only briefly gazing at the supplies that had been dump so unceremoniously on the floor. He had apparently had one too many drinks with Curtis in his younger years; the man seemed to know him all too well. He could feel the anger and frustration building up inside of him. He had unknowingly put Elizabeth into harms way, and there seemed to be no way out of this room. He kicked at the easel, sending paints and brushes flying across the room. He paced around the outside of the room like a caged animal, anger turning to fury. After a few laps he finally settled down, his head swimming from the drugs running through his system. If painting the Degas would keep Elizabeth safe, than that's all he could do. He walked over and set up the easel, and got to work.

.*~*~*~*~*.

Peter sat in his recliner, staring blankly through the dark windows, out into the night. Hughes had sent him home around midnight, but he wasn't able to sleep. The late night reruns of the days ball game didn't even interest him, so he just sat there hoping and waiting. He scrubbed a hand over his face and checked his watch; it was just past four. The sun would be coming up soon, and they could return to their search. Satchmo laid on the floor beside him, the dog knew something was wrong. Peter reached down and absently scratched his head.

"She'll be alright, Satch. She's with Neal, he'll keep her safe." Peter desperately wanted to believe it was true, it was the only hope he could cling to at the moment.


	12. Chapter 12

I don't own White Collar, or the characters...blah...blah...blah... Please be kind...re[view]...

**A/N: Bonus! I got through two today. I surprise even myself sometimes :-)**

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Chapter Twelve

Neal sat in the corner, his body trembling uncontrollably; every part of him ached with a pain he had never before felt. The nausea was coming back, and he feared the heaving that he knew would soon follow. It was all part of Curtis' plan, Neal knew. Curtis had called it his reward system. Work on the painting until you couldn't stand, and when the heaving got so bad that you were begging for it, he would bring the drug. Neal had no idea how long he'd been on the roller coaster, only that when they brought the drug, they would also bring Elizabeth. She would hold him and comfort him until he passed out, but when he awoke the only thing in the room would be the painting. He could hear her cries and whimpers through the door, and it tore at him. He feared what would happen now that the painting was finished, but he had feared more what they would do to Elizabeth if he hadn't completed it. Up until this point, she had seemed relatively unharmed, the little he could remember from her visits; he hoped they would let her stay with him, now that he had finished and Curtis had what he wanted.

Through the haze in his mind, he knew something was different this time; he couldn't hear Elizabeth anymore. He forced himself to his hands and knees, using the last of his strength to crawl towards the door. He didn't make it more than half way before the dry heaving started, stopping him in his tracks. The door in front of him opened, and Curtis emerged, still holding his Ruger, followed by the larger of the two goons.

"Well, well, well. I see you've finished." Curtis made a motion to the man with him. "Get him up."

"Wh…erzz…liz…be…th…" Neal asked between heaves, trying unsuccessfully to avoid being pulled to his feet.

"You're getting what you want, now that I have what I want. She's being sent home." Curtis gave him a sadistic smile. "You, on the other hand, I still have a use for."

.*~*~*~*~*.

Peter stared out the window of his office, his whole body felt numb. He hadn't slept in two days. The team had looked at all the information they had from every angle, and re-interviewed every witness, but they had still come up with nothing. He couldn't stand being at home, the house felt empty in a way that chilled him to his core. The morning seemed to be almost at a stand still, and he glanced down at his watch, it was just past nine. It took his brain a minute to recognize the fact that his cell phone was ringing in his pocket, and he slowly reached down and pulled it out, staring at the screen. The phone number seemed vaguely familiar, but it there was no name on the caller ID. He hit the answer button and pushed the phone to his ear.

"Burke."

"_Peter? It's Dr. Matthews. I need you need to come down to the hospital."_

Peter wasn't sure to be worried or relieved by the statement, he had been dreading a call like this. He feared the answer to his next question.

"Who is it?"

"It's Elizabeth. She's alive. She came through the emergency room as a Jane Doe this morning. Meredith thought she recognized her and called me. I'll meet you back at her room, she's in the ICU, room 2."

Peter thanked the doctor and hung up the phone as he raced out of the office. He put his emergency flashing light on the dash of the car, and sped out of the parking garage. He didn' t even pay any attention to how fast he was going as he quickly cut through traffic, and parked the Taurus outside the Emergency room. It seemed ironic to him; he was somehow grateful now, that he knew exactly where he was going. He darted by the reception desk, jogging down the familiar pale yellow hallways.

He caught sight of Dr. Matthews standing at the nurses' station as he approached the ICU doors, and anxiously waited to be buzzed in. The doctor was dressed in jeans, collared shirt, and leather jacket; his hospital ID badge casually clipped to a belt loop. He looked up as he heard the sliding doors open and waved Peter over. Dr. Matthews sent him a reassuring look and silently followed Peter into the room. Peter stopped just inside the door, suddenly feeling weak and finding it hard to breathe as he caught sight of his wife. She was hooked up to a ventilator, IV, and heart monitor; her face was an ashen gray.

"It's alright, Peter." The doctor put a comforting hand on his shoulder, pushing him forward.

Peter walked over cautiously and stood next to the bed, carefully taking her hand in his, reaching up and brushing the hair from her face with his other hand. He stood staring at her, his mind racing. If she was here, where was Neal?

"What happened to her?" He didn't turn his focus away from his wife. He heard the doctor walk up and stand beside him.

"She was brought in, in respiratory arrest. The admitting physician logged it as a drug overdose, most likely GHB. We're still waiting for the toxicology to come back to know for sure. She's in a coma, but she's stable." Peter nodded in response trying to let the information sink in.

"She was alone?"

"Yes. I'm so sorry, Peter." Peter finally looked up, when the doctor placed a sympathetic hand on his arm. "I'm not on duty today, but I've left instructions for them to page me if anything changes."

"Thank you, Evan." The doctor quietly nodded, and Peter watched him leave the room before turning his attention back to Elizabeth.

Peter pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat, not letting go of Elizabeth's hand. He pulled out his phone and sent a text off to Jones and Diana letting them know where he was. Once the message was sent, he eased himself closer to his wife, curling up against the bed with his head on the mattress next to her. The reassuring steady beep of the heart monitor lulled his fatigued mind to sleep.

.*~*~*~*~*.

"no…do…nt…" Neal tried to fight, tried to pull his arm away. He didn't want to do this anymore. If Elizabeth was indeed safe, he saw no reason to keep this up; he could just curl up in the corner and die. Not that he really wanted to die, but he didn't see anyway out of here, and he didn't want to know what Curtis had in store for him. At least if he was dead, he would be with Kate again. It was all he had been able to think about with the limited function he had left.

"Hold still, and this will be over." Curtis pushed the gun to the side of his head, and he stopped fighting. He hated guns; his mind finally switched thoughts. Too much blood, they were messy and took no intelligence to use them. And they were painful, he could think of much better, faster ways to go. He squinted his eyes and tried to focus on the two men in front of him, gasping as he felt the needle slid into his arm. He let his eyelids droop shut as he felt his eyes roll back in his head. He could feel the warmth of it as it worked its way through his body, taking away all the pain. He was tired, and now he could sleep. He would sleep, he told himself, why fight it any longer? He felt his body released, and he slid down the wall, curling himself into a ball on the floor, and disappearing into the darkness.

"What are you doing?" It was Peter's voice. Suddenly his mentor's face appeared before him.

"_Sleeping." What a dumb question, he thought._

"_Why the hell are you sleeping, Neal? You have to get yourself out of there."_

"_There's no way out, Peter, I looked. Elizabeth is safe, that's all that matters." She had to be safe; he didn't want to think of the alternative. "I know you'll find me, Peter. I trust you."_

"_So that's it? You're just going to lay there?" Peter's voice sounded angry. "Cowboy up, Neal. Get yourself out."_

"_I can't. Please come for me, Peter." Peter's face faded into the darkness, leaving him feeling scared and alone._


	13. Chapter 13

I don't own White Collar, or the characters...blah...blah...blah... If I did, crappy, wet, muddy days like today would be soooo much more enjoyable ;-)

Please be kind...re[view]...

**A/N: This is probably the last "daily" update, I'll be able to post...I know, I know... sorry =( But I will see what I can squeeze in...**

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Chapter Thirteen

The beeping of the heart monitor and the whisper of the ventilator slowly faded back into his awareness, confusing him as he came out of the deep sleep he had fallen into. He gradually opened his eyes, finding himself looking at his still unconscious wife, her hand still tightly clenched in his. He could feel a presence in the room and slowly turned his head to find Dr. Matthews sitting in a chair in the corner. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, checking the time on his watch; it was just past seven.

"You been here long?" He whispered over to the doctor, seeing a slight smile spread across the younger mans face.

"No, not long. You don't have to whisper, Peter." The doctor put down the paper he had been reading. "Agent Jones was here, dropped off that file for you."

Peter turned his head to find a blue file folder lying on the bedside table next to him.

"I believe he said it's the police report from this afternoon." Peter nodded, understanding the unspoken message, as he glanced at Elizabeth.

"How's his head?"

"Healing nicely."

The two men sat in silence, Peter not wanting to take his eyes off of his wife. Peter was grateful for the company; an unspoken camaraderie had started to form between them. But lingering in the back of his mind, he knew it should be Neal sitting in that chair, and absently worried where he was. He couldn't make sense out of why Elizabeth would have been given back, but Neal still no where to be found. It didn't bode well for Neal. Neal had become more than just his consultant or partner, he had become family. Especially over the last few months, being in and out of the hospital. Peter was torn between his overwhelming desire to stay with his wife, and the urge to find Neal. What if Elizabeth woke up while he was gone to look for Neal, and he wasn't there to comfort her? What if Neal died, because he couldn't leave Elizabeth's bedside? He shook his head to clear his thoughts. His team was the best, and they were out looking for Neal, he tried to reassure himself. As if reading his mind, the doctor approached, resting a companionable hand on Peter's shoulder.

"I'll stay here with her, if you'd like." Peter looked up at the doctor's compassionate expression. "Jones told me what happened. Go find him, Peter."

.*~*~*~*~*.

Neal let out a moan as his body was dumped down onto the cold hard floor. Through the slits in his eyelids, he could tell he wasn't in the same room he been in for the last few days. His body ached from the tremors and the heaving; the fractured ribs only a small part of his agony as he tried to concentrate on the task of breathing. The space was familiar, but he could not place it; it had been increasingly difficult to maintain any kind of thought. He absently traced a finger down the grout line between the tiles he was sitting on; he had a strange feeling that he should know this place.

"Hurry up, Tim. Get it down." Curtis ordered the smaller of the two thugs.

Neal could hear them scurrying around him, but he was past the point of caring; it was all he could do to keep his head upright. Another wave of spasms raced through his body, sending him into a coughing fit; they hadn't given him any of the drug for most of the day, and he had been coughing up more and more blood as the hours drug on. He just wanted them to leave him alone, leave him peace so he could escape into the quiet darkness again. There was no pain in the darkness, and he could envision himself with Kate once again. He was happy just dreaming of her.

"Shit. He's got blood all over the place."

"It's fine. It'll just dig him in even deeper. He'll be quiet for a little while, give me a couple of hours, and then call it in."

Neal felt someone reach down and grab his arm; he didn't have the strength to resist as he felt the needle once again pushed into him. He was grateful for the relief as it quickly washed over him, and he slipped painlessly out of consciousness.

.*~*~*~*~*.

It was just about nine thirty as Peter steered the Taurus into the federal parking garage; he remarked to himself that the lights of the city were such a stark contrast to the darkness of the moonless night. He cursed under his breath, startled when his phone rang. He felt his heart race a little as he checked the caller ID, wondering if it was Dr. Matthews calling to tell him that Elizabeth was awake. He was slightly disappointed to see that it was Diana calling. For as much sleep as he had gotten lying there next to Elizabeth, he still felt drained as he answered the phone.

"Boss? We may have found Caffrey." There was a pause, and Peter could hear her let out a long sigh before continuing. "You're not going to like this."

"Where? I'll meet you." He tried to steady himself and not conjure up any possibilities in his mind.

"They're bringing him to St. Mary's. I'm on my way."

Peter thanked her, and hung up the phone as he quickly turned the car around and headed back where he had come from. The traffic was light as he headed across town; grateful that he was able to make good time. The relief he had felt after the phone call disappeared as he pulled into the parking lot in front of the emergency room; the ambulance was being escorted by at least two police cruisers. He hoped it was just for Neal's protection, but something deep down in his gut was telling him otherwise. He caught sight of Diana as he jogged through the sliding doors; the expression on her face was telling him that his gut had been right. As he got closer, he noticed she was holding a couple evidence bags in her hand; one of them contained a familiar looking wallet.

"What's going on, Diana?" His manner was guarded as he approached his junior agent.

"NYPD responded to the report of a break in at the Met." She placed a concerned hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Peter. It's Neal. They found him lying next to a Degas that was partially cut from its frame. Jones's wallet was in his pocket, along with this."

Peter reached out and took the evidence bag she handed him, inside was a small clear pouch containing a few white pills.

"GHB?" Peter could hear the shaking in his own voice.

"The officer's seem to think so. We'll have to run it through the lab to be sure." Her manner was one of disappointment.

"He didn't do this, Diana. Curtis set him up." Peter could feel the fury rising up inside of him. "He wouldn't do that to Elizabeth."

"The museum guard who called it in, reported that he walked in on Neal trying to cut the painting from the frame, and tasered him. Took a couple of shocks to put him down." Diana shifted uncomfortably under Peter's stare. "He's unconscious right now, they said he arrested in the ambulance.

"I want to talk to him. As soon as he's awake." Peter handed Diana back the evidence bag, letting his attention shift over to the emergency room doors, catching a glimpse of a familiar figure in green scrubs skirting through the doors. "You know where I'll be."

Peter walked down the hallway towards the ICU in a daze, his mind felt numb. He refused to believe that Neal had willingly had any part of this, but Hughes' words from just a few days before still lingered in the back of his mind. He couldn't shake the feeling of defeat as he entered Elizabeth's room saw her still lying there motionless. He took up his chair next to her, taking her hand in his.

"I don't believe it, El. I don't believe he could do this to you." He nestled his head down on her shoulder. "Please wake up, and tell me he didn't do this."


	14. Chapter 14

I don't own White Collar, or the characters...blah...blah...blah... Please be kind...re...[view]...

**A/N: Ok, you guys are spoiled...(almost as spoiled as everyone [and everything] around here...) making me feel bad... ;-) Another small chapie to tie you over... Only one more night! woohoo! **

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Chapter Fourteen

There was a soft knock on the door, and Peter turned to find Dr. Matthews leaning against the doorframe; his leather jacket now hung over a set of green scrubs, his hair was disheveled but his eyes held a comforting calmness.

"I thought you were off today." Peter saw the doctor smirk, before meandering his way into the room, and over next to Peter.

"Well…I have this one patient…" The doctor gave a little smile, and Peter couldn't help but chuckle to himself.

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry about that." Peter kept his eyes on his wife. "How is he?"

"He's being put in the room next door. His lungs are a mess, and I would guess he's working on a case of pneumonia from the sounds of it. I've scheduled him for a chest x-ray a little later to confirm. Peter…" The doctor paused, placing a hand on Peter's shoulder, waiting for the agent to turn and give his full attention. "He was drugged as well. We're waiting on the toxicology to come back. But, we won't be able to tell the extent of what's going on with him until he detoxes. I've put him on some medication that will help, but it's still going to be hell."

Peter nodded, turning back to his wife; he was still trying to process the information that Diana had given him earlier.

"He's awake and he's asking for you. I'll stay with her."

Peter silently nodded, not really wanting to leave Elizabeth, but knowing that he had to. He stood, leaving his jacket on the back of the chair, and headed towards Neal's room. His heart sank as he passed the two US Marshals posted at the door; he could hear the rattle of handcuffs on the bed railings as he entered. He had to pause, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath to steady himself, remembering that NYPD was still intent on charging him for the break-in and attempted theft.

"p…tr…" The quiet, gravely voice snapped him back to the present, and he looked over to see Neal reaching out towards him as best he could, his hand trembling uncontrollably. Peter crossed the room, taking Neal's hand in his as he looked around for a chair. "liz…b…thh…"

"She's next door. She's in a coma, Neal." Peter finally located the chair, reaching out with his foot he pulled it closer, and sat down.

"cur…ti…sss…drr…ggeddd…pp…tinnnn…"

"Be quiet, Neal." The younger man complied, his wild blue eyes filled with pain when he couldn't hold back the coughing. Peter waited for the fit to pass, before continuing. "The police are charging you with the break-in."

"dinnn…do…it…" Neal's eyes filled with alarm as he pulled at the restraints. "cur…tis…ff…org…pin…tin…liz…bth…"

"Damn it, Neal. Shut up and listen for a minute." Peter stood, reaching over the bed and grabbing Neal's other flailing hand; he looked down into the con's panicked blue eyes. "NYPD found Jones' wallet, and some of the pills that Elizabeth was drugged with on you."

"p…tr…i..wod…in…hur…liz…bth…" Neal finally laid still, Peter thought he saw a tear roll down his face. "don…tr…sss…me…go…in…ss…nd…me…bak"

"I…we…" Peter was trying to find an easy way to explain their difficult situation, knowing there really wasn't one. "We have nothing to prove that it was Curtis."

"he…waz…ri..ght…" Neal shifted his eyes away from Peter.

"Right about what?" Peter tried to lean over to look into his consultant's eyes.

"tak…in…ev…thin…a…way…" Neal closed his eyes, and his body shook violently as another coughing fit took control of him.

Peter held on, unable to do anything else to help ease his partner's suffering. Once the fit was over and Neal lay still for the most part, Peter released his hands, easing himself back into the chair; he didn't know what to say.

"x…ray…" Neal's eyes shifted back towards Peter, and he thought he could see a slight spark hidden behind the obvious exhaustion.

"Dr. Matthews said it would be a few hours." Peter was confused, unsure of why Neal was so interested his x-ray.

"no…pain…tin…" Neal held out a shaking a hand to point at Peter. "x…ray…p…ain…tin…"

"It's not the original, is it?" Peter blew out a frustrated breath.

"lll…ead…wh…ite…" Neal's eyes were starting to droop closed from fatigue. "prr…oo…ffff…"

"Alright, alright…go to sleep." Peter held his partner's trembling hand until he finally passed out.

.*~*~*~*~*.

"I don't see what it will hurt. They should want to authenticate the painting, anyway."

Peter paced the hallway outside of the ICU as he talked with Hughes on the phone. They were desperately trying to get jurisdiction for the investigation to be turned over to them, but it was proving difficult at this late hour. Peter was just going to have to resign himself to waiting until morning. He said his good-byes to his superior, and hung up the phone, heading back towards Elizabeth's room. He hated seeing Neal handcuffed in his state, not that he hadn't slapped them on those wrists himself on numerous occasions, but this was different. The D.O.J. had been raising hell trying to get Neal conveyed back into their custody, but Dr. Matthews had been able to come up with multiple medical reasons for Neal not to be transferred to the hospital wing at the prison. Peter wasn't sure how many of them Neal actually had, but at least it would insure that Neal would stay here until they figured things out. Peter poked his head into Neal's room, making sure he was still asleep, before resuming his post at Elizabeth's bedside.

Peter hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep, and for a moment he thought he had dreamed that Elizabeth's hand had moved inside of his. As he started to stretch the kinks out of his body, her hand tightened around his.

"Elizabeth?" He spoke softly as he carefully reached up and ran his free hand delicately down the side of her face, studying her for a reaction. Her eyelids fluttered and her head twitched once and then she was still again, the pressure on his hand was gone.

He nestled his head lightly on her shoulder, and was just about to fade into sleep when he felt it again. He gave her hand a little squeeze, and she squeezed back. He slowly sat upright keeping his eyes on hers, and was rewarded when her eyes fluttered and then open just a slit.

"El? It's Peter." He could hear his own voice waver slightly as he reached for the call button. He saw her mouth move, as she tried to whisper around the ventilator tubing. "Don't try and talk. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."

There was a pause, and he felt her squeeze his hand, her eyes opening a little more. A short older nurse poked her head in the door, and smiled, nodding to Peter.

"I'll page Dr. Matthews."

"You don't need to bother him, I think he finally went home." Peter knew he sounded disappointed, he was, but he had dealt with the other doctor previously, and knew he was more than capable.

"Oh, don't be silly. I think he's asleep up on four." The nurse sent Peter a wink and disappeared out the door again.

It wasn't but a few minutes until Peter heard the door open again, this time Dr. Matthews' familiar face peeked in. Peter quietly watched as the doctor carefully removed the ventilator, and went about checking Elizabeth's vitals.

"I thought you were going home." Peter looked questioningly over at the doctor, who had taken up a seat on the end of Elizabeth's bed, while he filled out her chart.

"I have to be on duty at seven. I can sleep just as good here, as I can at home." The doctor didn't look up from the chart. "You get things squared away with Neal?"

"No. Not yet. Thank you, though." Peter looked over at Elizabeth who was tapping him on the arm.

"Neal…ok?" Her voice was hoarse, as she looked questioningly between the two men.

"He'll be alright." Peter patted her hand. He wanted to avoid telling her about the situation, at least until he had a few more answers. Elizabeth nodded, her eyes drooping closed in restful sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

I don't own White Collar, or the characters... blah...blah...blah... Please be kind...re[view]...

**A/N: Ok so...OMG... y'all did see the premier? I just wanted to hug Peter when they took his gun and badge, he looked so lost... AND... did you see the preview clip from next week... did I say OMG?**

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Chapter Fifteen

"_Peter, why the hell is your name showing up on the x-ray of that painting?"_ Peter could hear the frustration in his boss' voice as it came booming through the phone.

"What, exactly did it say?" He couldn't help but smile to himself.

"_It says 'Peter Burke FBI' plain as day. I'm looking at the x-ray now. The lab says it has something to do with lead in one of the paints."_

"Lead White." Peter chuckled to himself, thinking of what Neal had tried to tell him the night before. "It was Neal's S.O.S. He knew even if he didn't make it out, eventually we'd try and authenticate the painting. Curtis has the original. We find Curtis, we find the Degas."

"_Fine. Find Curtis, and let's clear this whole thing up."_

The line went dead, and Peter smiled back at his phone. His name mysteriously showing up in the painting had been enough for the district attorney to finally concede jurisdiction. The police had been fairly vocal in their displeasure of Peter's plans to drop the breaking and entering charges against Neal, but the painting confirmed in Peter's mind what he had already known; Neal was set up. Granted, Curtis had done a good job at it, but he hadn't counted on one thing; Neal had people that cared about him these days, and they cared enough to look out for him. He wasn't just an ex-con serving out his sentence; he had become a part of their team. And, as far as Peter and Elizabeth were concerned, he was family.

Peter was in good spirits as he headed back through the ICU, his good mood faltered a bit as he reached Elizabeth's room and found it empty, until he remembered she had wanted to visit with Neal while he made his phone calls. Luckily, she didn't seem to have any lingering effects from the drug other than a little memory loss, and Dr. Matthews was talking about the possibility of discharging her after lunch if everything still looked good; knowing that they wouldn't be going too far away with Neal still there. Elizabeth looked up as he approached Neal's bedside, tears silently rolling down her face, and his heart sank.

"He started convulsing and they had to sedate him." She sniffed as she pointed at the cuffs. "You have to get these things off of him."

"I didn't have any control over it, until now." He defended as he pulled out his keys and unlocked the cuffs. "It would help if you could remember what happened in there."

"I've been trying..." Her voiced was laced with resentment, but she stopped when he held his hands up in submission.

"I'm sorry." Peter pocketed his keys again, dropping the cuffs on the bedside table, and walked over to where she sat. He bent down and wrapped his arms around her, placing his head on top of hers, looking remorsefully at his partner. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just…the sooner we can put all of this behind us, the better."

"I know." She reached up and gently patted his hand, and sucked in a slow deliberate breath. "He's in awful shape, Peter."

"p…tr…?" Neal slowly turned his head towards where the voice had come from, and his eyes fluttered open. "dinn…do…it…"

"He was pretty upset earlier, he doesn't think you believe him. " Elizabeth explained to her husband.

"I believe you, Neal. Lead White, right?" Peter scooted his chair closer to the bed, looking into Neal's glassy, hollow eyes. Neal nodded his head; his movements were slow and stilted.

"p…tr…br…ke…f…b…i…" Neal pointed one finger at Peter, without lifting his hand, and let his tired eyes droop back closed as he finished.

"I know, we found it, buddy." Peter reached up and tussled Neal's hair. "Get some rest."

"don…t…sen…me…ba…ck…" Neal shook one hand, as if it was still cuffed to the bed.

"They're off, Neal. See?" Peter reached over, lifting Neal's arms one at a time and gently laid them across his waist. "You're not going anywhere."

.*~*~*~*~*.

Peter had waited until he was sure that both Elizabeth and Neal were resting before he had headed for the office. He wasn't looking forward to this meeting; he could tell by Hughes' tone of voice over the phone that the police lieutenant was pretty upset about having to turn over the case. As he exited the elevator he could see the man vehemently pacing Hughes' office.

"Is that O'Connor?" Peter paused at Diana's desk, stalling for time.

"Yeah, and he's not happy with you. Apparently, he found out that you already un-cuffed Caffrey."

Peter looked up in time to see Hughes point down and call him up to join the little meeting.

"Double finger point." He laughed under his breath.

"What?" Diana shot him a quizzical look.

"Nothing." Peter gave a little smirk, and headed up the stairs.

"Peter, I'd like you to meet Lieutenant Shane O'Connor." Peter could here the weariness and frustration in his boss' voice.

Peter took a minute to let his eyes run over the man standing in front of him. The Lieutenant looked a little younger than Peter had expected, his dark brown hair just barely starting to gray around the edges. He had chosen to show up in his dress blues, which Peter thought gave him a pretentious air. Peter could see the frustration in his face that was just barely lingering behind the forced calm exterior; he could have learned a thing or two from Neal, Peter found himself thinking, if he wasn't so busy trying to get the ex-con locked back up. Peter rolled his head and cracked his neck, he could tell this wasn't going to be a quick and pleasant meeting.

.*~*~*~*~*.

Dr. Matthews had come early and discharged her, allowing her to change into more comfortable clothing that Peter had left for her, and now Elizabeth sat in the hospital bed holding onto Neal as he lay with his head in her lap, his whole body quivering. It pained her to see him like this; the man that was normally in such control of himself, was now no more in control of his own body, than he was of the weather. The doctor had said that they were through the worst of it, but Elizabeth just wasn't so sure. Even though Peter had un-cuffed him, the Marshals still lingered outside the door, like vultures circling their next meal. Their presence made her uncomfortable, she got the distinct feeling that they would swoop in here and chain him up at a moment's notice if they had the chance.

"El?" Neal's voice was clearer than it had been, but still sounded weak.

"What's wrong, Neal?" She brushed the hair out of his eyes as he tilted his head to look up at her.

"Mar…shals…here…to…take…me…?" Elizabeth looked down at her charge, almost disbelieving what she was hearing. Neal either didn't remember his conversation with Peter, or didn't believe it.

"No, Neal. They've been here the whole time. Don't you remember what Peter said? You're not going anywhere."

"Does…nt…be…lieve…me…"

"Of course he does." Elizabeth hoped she sounded sincere. She knew that Peter was always weary when it came to whole-heartedly believing Neal. "He just has to be able to prove it to the police."

"I…would…nt…hurt…you…would…nt…be…tray…Peters…trust…"

"I know that sweetie, and so does Peter. He's going to fix this, don't you worry." She ran a comforting hand through his hair.

"Alright." Neal curled his head back down into her lap, and she could feel his body relax some as he drifted off to sleep again. Sitting here with Neal had started to jostle her memories, and she felt the warmth of a tear as it slowly made it's way down her cheek. Curtis had put Neal through hell, and she would be damned if she would let him destroy everything Neal and Peter had worked so hard for.


	16. Chapter 16

I don't own White Collar, or the characters... blah...blah...blah...

**A/N: Alright, so sorry it's taken so long for this update, and yes, I know it's short :-( It's been soooo hard finding time to write this week! We're all trying to adjust to a new schedule (we have a new intern) and show season starts back up in three short weeks! **

**But, at least here's a little bit to keep you going... We're getting ready to be on the hunt for Curtis again, and then things should get interesting... ;-)**

Please be kind...re[view]

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Chapter Sixteen

Peter was in a foul mood as he weaved his way through the hospital's hallways towards Neal's new room on the third floor; it had taken the better part of the afternoon to satiate the police Lieutenant's concerns about Neal and the robberies. He had talked with Dr. Matthews over the phone, earlier, and knew that Elizabeth had been discharged and Neal was fairly contentious but doing better. He had taken the time to stop off at home to get a shower and change into more comfortable clothing, stopping by June's on the way back here to pick up some for Neal. He dropped the duffel bag into one of the easy chairs in the room, slightly panicked to find the bed empty, Neal and Elizabeth nowhere to be found. As he jogged over to the nurse's station, he spotted them at the end of the hallway walking back towards him, Neal was in a wheelchair being pushed by a cute little blonde nurse, that Peter recognized from last time. Elizabeth waved when she caught sight of him, and he walked towards them, trying calm his own irritation.

"Out for a stroll?" Peter looked down at his partner, Neal's face was ashen and his normally bright eyes were dark and sullen.

"Dr. Matthews thought it might do him some good to get out and about." Elizabeth spoke up, answering for Neal who had been quiet the entire time they had been out of his room.

Peter nodded in acknowledgement, and followed them back to Neal's room in silence. He could feel the tension in the air, as the nurse helped Neal feebly ease himself back into bed. He could tell by the way that Neal was carrying himself, that their moods were fairly similar; he conceded that he would have to tread lightly to avoid a confrontation. Peter did notice that the shakes had finally seemed to stop, but Neal still looked weak and wearied.

"I'll just go get some coffee." Elizabeth could feel the unease that lingered between the two men, and knew they needed a chance to talk.

Elizabeth slipped out of the room behind the nurse, leaving them alone, and Peter silently took up his chair next to Neal's bed. He shifted uncomfortably, unsure how much he should divulged to Neal in his current state, and tried to keep his manner casual, assuming that Neal was still on edge over the situation with the arrest.

"NYPD turned the investigation over to us this afternoon." Peter could tell that Neal was processing the information, even though he didn't turn to face him. He blew out a slow breath, letting the silence linger for a moment. "We were able to get the charges against you dropped."

"Peter…" Neal finally spoke; his voice was hoarse and obviously strained. "Curtis…"

"I know, Neal, we just have to prove it." Peter put a hand up to stop him; he knew what was on Neal's mind. "But, you have to get well, first. Dr. Matthews says you should be able to go home tomorrow, as long as you take it easy."

"Home." Neal shot Peter a sarcastic look. "You mean…back to…your house."

"I don't think three flights of stairs counts as taking it easy, Neal, you get full-blown pneumonia and you'll be right back here again." Peter checked back his own annoyance, and made a motion for Neal to stay quiet. "You won't be any good helping me catch Curtis, from a hospital bed."

Peter saw the resignation sweep through Neal's whole posture, and hoped that it was the last of time they would have to approach that subject.

"Peter…I wouldn't…hurt…Elizabeth…like that." Neal finally turned his head, letting his pale blue eyes settle on Peter's face.

"I know, Neal." Peter could feel the ache in his heart, not wanting to admit that he had almost let Curtis convince him otherwise. "Trying to set you up, may just be what brings him down. Those pills he planted on you…the local drug task force feels they may be able to help pin down where he got them. We're still waiting to hear back from the lab."

"No…it won't…What about…the paint?"

"He used Jones' credit card, which he also planted on you." Neal shook his head in disapproval.

"He's too…careful…he would…have had…his…goons…do the…shopping."

"It's a start, Neal. I'll take what I can get, right now." Peter was frustrated, and he knew Neal was as well. Neal's demeanor changed suddenly, his eyes gaining a slight spark, as he seemed to remember something important.

"The…security…guard…from the…museum."

"He's still too scared to talk." Neal shook his head; obviously agitated that Peter wasn't following his train of thought.

"No…from…last night…" Peter looked back at him, confused. "The one…that said…he…found me…he…works for…Curtis…he was…the one…that…brought…the supplies."

"You're sure about this?" Peter had to force himself to stay calm and focused; his mind started to race thinking fervently back over the case file.

"Ask…Elizabeth." Neal said, weakly holding his hand up to point behind Peter.

"Ask me what?" Neal coughed out a laugh when Peter startled at his wife's voice.

.*~*~*~*~*.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Peter paced outside the door to Neal's room, listening to his wife recount what she could remember of the last few days. Part of him just wanted to hold and comfort his wife, listening to the horrific details, but the agent part of his brain was exasperated with the fact that he was just finding all this out. Some of this information would have been helpful in his earlier meeting with the police lieutenant. Finally he was able to halt the feuding sides of his brain, and wrapped his arms around his wife, holding her close for a moment, trying to let his mind process the knowledge of what had happened to his wife and his partner.

"I didn't want to bother you in your meeting." Elizabeth could tell Peter was irritated, and just kept her tone quiet and soothing.

"If you saw them again, would you recognize them?" Peter pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and started composing a text message.

"Sure. But, honey, can't this wait until morning?" She reached up and ran a loving hand down his arm, watching as Peter typed on his phone.

"As soon as Neal's released tomorrow, I think we all need to have a little chat with that security guard." He dropped the phone back into his pocket, returning his arms to their hold on his wife.

"The security guard?" Elizabeth couldn't hide the surprise in her voice. "That's how they set Neal up?"

"Neal seems to think so. I'm going to have Diana come tonight, and take an official statement from both you and Neal." He held up a hand to stop her protest. "Once we have those statements, we can have the guard picked up. I don't want to give them too much of a head start."

"Alright. I just worry about Neal. He's had such a rough couple of days." Elizabeth snuggled into the warmth of Peter's embrace, glad to have the comfort and support it provided.

.*~*~*~*~*.

Peter walked Diana back out of the room, after listening to Neal and Elizabeth give her their statements. He lingered in the hallway, watching until she stepped onto the elevator. The knowledge of what had been done only infuriated him. He knew he would always stand for justice, but some hidden part of him wanted to see Curtis suffer for what he had done. Peter knew he would never completely know what Neal felt towards whomever had killed Kate, but he was starting to understand it. The line between right and wrong, that usually seemed so sharp and black and white, now seemed hazy and gray.

As he turned and entered the room, he found Neal curled up in the bed, his back to the door and his body quivering ever so slightly; Elizabeth was sitting in the bedside chair, gently rubbing her hand up and down his arm. Peter whispered over to her, letting her know he was going to find some dinner for the three of them. He needed some space to think, before he let his conflicting emotions get the better of him.


	17. Chapter 17

I don't own White Collar, or the characters... blah...blah...blah... Please be kind...re[view]...

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Chapter Seventeen

Neal sat in the empty conference room that was connected to Peter's office; his head buried into his arms as they lay crossed on the table in front of him. On any given day, he would have complained about Peter's atrocious driving, but today on the trip here from the hospital, it had seemed especially bad and it had been all he could do not to hurl. He knew if he was going to be any help to Peter, he was going to have to pull it together. Neal found himself contemplating his current state; he still wasn't sure which was worse, the medication they had given him to combat the withdrawal symptoms, or the drug that had caused them in the first place. The room seemed like it was swimming around him, and the light coming in through the windows felt brighter than it should have. The one saving grace was that the medication did almost completely alleviate the lingering ache in his hip, and the pain from the cracked ribs.

"Neal?" He just grunted in response to Peter's voice, unwilling to move. "You alright?"

"Just fine." Neal mumbled into his elbow. "Let's get this over with."

"Jones and Diana went down to get the guard out of holding." Neal heard Peter pull out a chair and sat down across from him. "You sure you're OK?"

"mmmm…" He was far from being OK, but he knew they didn't have the luxury of putting this off any longer. The sooner they caught Curtis, the sooner he could crawl into a dark corner somewhere and go to sleep.

"As soon as we're done here, I'll take you back to the house."

"Fine." Neal dreaded another car ride, and was considering whether he could just sleep here in the conference room, like Sara had done. He forced himself to sit up as he heard steps coming closer outside, he had wanted to face this guy standing up, but the thought of being on his feet again made another wave of nausea roll through him.

"Mr. Rhodes." Peter pulled out a chair for the security guard, letting Diana drop him uncouthly down into it. He snickered to himself as he watched the smug look fade off the security guard's face as he caught sight of Neal.

"What's he doing here?" The guard stammered as he pointed towards Neal; a slight tone of fear lingered behind the agitation in his voice.

"I work here." Neal hissed, trying to look as condescending as he could muster. "Or, did Curtis forget to mention that?"

"I…You…you were arrested…" The guard lifted a hopeful gaze up to Peter, recoiling when he was met with disdain. "I want my lawyer."

"Only guilty men ask for their lawyers." Neal leaned forward in his chair; he could feel his own fury building up inside of him. He swallowed hard; trying to forced the anger down where he could control it.

"He would know." Peter quipped under his breath.

"This is a set up." The man quickly looked at Neal and then back to Peter. "You're just protecting your own."

"You little rat…" Diana seethed and took a step towards the cowering man, looking over at Peter as she caught herself.

"You want a lawyer? Fine. But you're staying right where you're at until they get here." Peter turned to his junior agent. "Diana, get him his lawyer."

Peter walked around the table, placing a hand on Neal's shoulder to ask him to stand up. Neal very carefully stood, consciously keeping his back to the security guard, to hide the fact that the color drained from his face at the sudden change of position. Without saying a word, the two men exited the conference room. Neal was relieved to be out of sight of the guard, and let himself drop down into his chair on the far side of the room.

"Stay here." Peter knew that Neal wasn't going anywhere, at least not very quickly.

"Mmm…hmm…" Neal curled himself back into folded arms as he settled onto Peter's familiar desk.

_He could smell his own vomit as he lay on the cold hard metal that was the floor of the van. The long ride had been miserable, and he was starting to hope they would just pull over and put a bullet in him, so he didn't have to endure this torture anymore. He had overheard them talking about having dumped Elizabeth in the park, and he desperately hoped she was safe with Peter. Peter would be so distracted by Elizabeth, that he wouldn't come looking for him. That was what they had told Neal, and he had to concede, it was possible. Neal hoped they were wrong, he hoped Peter would come find him. One way or the other, he just wanted this whole thing to be over. The van finally came to a screeching halt and the side door quickly slid open._

_"Get him out." He heard Curtis order._

_He couldn't see them; it was dark and his blurry eyes would barely open to just slits. He felt rough hands grab him by the arm and pull him from the van. He struggled to keep his feet under him; he knew if he were to fall, they would just drag him along anyway._

_His mind must have shut down for a few minutes, because when he opened his eyes again, he was sitting inside a building, with no recollection of how he had gotten to this particular spot. The ornate tiles on the floor looked familiar. Think damn it. It was no use. His mind, which he had always thought was his best asset, was gone, succumbed to the destructive effects of whatever they had been shoving into his veins._

_The smell of fresh oil paint wafted by his nose, and he guessed it was the forgery he had provided, he turned his head to find it sitting on the floor next to him, Curtis was standing over it with a knife, the canvas was partially cut from the frame._

_"Hurry up, Tim. Get it down." Curtis ordered the other man that was with them. Neal thought he recognized the little man from the other day. Now, he was dressed as a museum security guard, that didn't seem to fit with the distant memory he had of him._

_The little man, apparently named Tim, pulled the original Degas down off the wall. Neal tried to mutter something, but the words got stuck in his throat. As he gasped for air, another wave of muscle spasms ripped through his body, sending him into a coughing fit. As he coughed harder and harder, he couldn't prevent the blood from coming up. Not that he cared anymore; he had been doing this routine off and on for awhile now, considering they hadn't given him any of the poison in hours. He just wanted them to go away, and leave him alone to die in peace._

_"Shit. He's got blood all over the place." Neal heard Tim exclaim in a loud whisper._

_"It's fine. It'll just dig him in even deeper. He'll be quiet for a little while, give me a couple __of hours, and then call it in." Curtis didn't bother to whisper, Neal noticed, he wasn't as uncomfortable in this kind of situation as his little partner was. Curtis reached down and grabbed his arm; he didn't have the strength to resist any more, as he felt the needle pushed into him. He was grateful for the relief as the dark numbness quickly washed over him. _

_He struggled to pull himself out of the deep darkness he had been lingering in, for what had seemed like an eternity. He found himself alone, his body shivering from the cold. He hugged his arms around his chest, rubbing his hands up and down his arms to try and warm them._

"_What are you doing?" It was Peter's voice, but his mentor was no where to be found._

"_I'm cold." He replied flately._

"_You're supposed to be getting out of here." Peter sounded annoyed. "God damn it, Neal, you're going to have to help yourself for once."_

_He felt hurt, Peter was often annoyed with him, but he never thought he wouldn't help him._

"_I can't Peter. I'm sick." There was no response, and he turned a circle looking for his partner, finding nothing but continual blackness. "Peter? PETER?"_

Rough hands jerked him back to reality, and he tried to lift his head to see who was there.

"P…tr?"

"Peter ain't here, shit head. But when he finds you, he's gonna be pissed." Neal recognized Tim's voice, and was about to try and say something when there was a sharp prick in his shoulder. Panic raced through his disoriented mind as he realized what it was, a second before the electricity raced into his body.

.*~*~*~*~*.

Peter paced outside the conference room, eager to get back in to talk with the museum's security guard, Timothy Rhodes. The presence of the lawyer was just going to complicate and elongate the whole business, costing them valuable time. He wandered down and looked in through the front glass of his office, finding Neal still asleep with his head on the desk. Dr. Matthews had warned him that Neal wouldn't be himself for a few more days. As he stood there, looking through the glass, Neal's body started to quiver. Alarmed, Peter charged into the office, just in time to see Neal's head jerk up off the desk; his blue eyes were filled with fright, and his breaths were coming in quick, short gasps.

"Peter?" Neal whispered in between labored breaths.

"It's alright, Neal." Peter put what he hoped was a comforting hand on Neal's shoulder, leaving it there until he felt his partner's breathing start to slow. He walked around to the other side of the desk, taking a seat in his chair, looking back at Neal; he hoped Neal would feel more at ease with the normalcy of it.

"You talk to Rhodes yet?" Neal asked once he was back in control of himself.

"Not yet." Peter shook his head, leaning back comfortably in his chair. "Was just getting ready to. You can sit this one out if you want."

"No…" Neal shook his head, his eyes hardening with a bit of determination. "No, I want to do this."

"Alright." Peter nodded, but let the silence linger for a moment; giving Neal a chance to compose himself.

The air in the conference room felt stagnant as the two men entered. Diana was leaning up against the glass wall, obviously still agitated. The lawyer, Matthew Donahue, sat next to his client, looking strangely uncomfortable. Peter leaned over and whispered into Neal's ear as they approached the table.

"Public defender." Neal smirked to himself and gave an icy smile as he took a seat about half way down the table, just a few chairs away from Peter. He didn't want to be within arm flailing distance if things got ugly.

"Agent Burke…" Mr. Donahue addressed Peter, trying not to let his eyes stray down to where Neal sat smiling smugly back at him. "I feel that you and Mr. Rhodes may have gotten off on the wrong foot. If I may be allowed…"

"Save it." Peter tossed the file he was carrying down onto the table. "The A.U.S.A. is willing to drop down to lessor charges if he gives us what we want."

"And what is it that you want?" Mr. Donahue leaned across the table, holding his client back with one hand.

"Curtis Bault." Peter leaned both hands down onto the table, easing across in the lawyer's direction. "We know your client is just a pawn. We want the king."

"I had nothing to do with this!" Tim's face turned red as he shouted over his lawyer's pleadings. He pointed down the table at Neal. "It was him, he's behind all of this. I can prove it."


	18. Chapter 18

I don't own White Collar, or the characters... blah...blah...blah... Please be kind...re[view]...

**A/N: Soooo... you can thank this crappy wet weather we're having. Hope you all enjoy!**

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Chapter Eighteen

"You lying little sac of shit..."

Peter stifled a laugh, and raised an eyebrow as he looked over at Neal, who was angrily edging out of his chair. He reached a hand out to placate him, and was about to take a step in his direction when Neal doubled over into another coughing fit. He had been seeing all new sides of Neal, since he'd been in and out of the hospital, but this one didn't come out very often. Normally, Neal would never have uttered profanities like that, although Peter did have to admit, it did fit the bill at the present moment. Knowing that his constant concerned observations made Neal uncomfortable, he turned his attention back to the two men sitting across the conference table from him.

"I think what my _partner_ is trying to say…" Peter flicked a quick glance in Neal's direction to make sure he was recovering. "Is that we have more than enough evidence to charge you're client. Mr. Rhodes could go down as the sole contriver behind this little scheme, or he can give us Curtis Bault, and avoid some of the more serious charges."

"You don't have shit." The security guard squared his shoulders and crossed his arms, settling into the back of his chair.

"We have a victim willing to testify, along with your finger prints." Peter smiled, and sat down, leaning back in his own chair.

"You can't use _HIS_ testimony…he's a felon." Tim brushed off his lawyer again.

"We don't need to, we've got Mrs. Burke's." Diana finally approached the table, dropping an evidence bag onto the table. "And, we've got this."

"But…she…" Peter watched as the little man darted his eyes around the room looking at all of them, and finally resting on the object Diana had dropped on the table. "That's not possible…he…he told me that she…that she was dead…"

"Kinda sucks getting set up to take the fall, huh?" Neal walked up behind Peter, picking up the evidence bag, turning the object over in his hands, smiling he held it up for the guard and the lawyer to see. "Lead White, remember?"

"You son of a bitch…" Mr. Donahue had to physically hold the security guard down in his chair.

"I think that's enough for now." The lawyer addressed Peter, as he motioned for his client to be still.

"Nope…No…No way. I want Curtis." Peter stared back at the lawyer. He knew if they backed down now, Curtis would be well out of their reach before they could do anything. Peter dropped a pen down on a pad of paper and pushed it over towards Tim. "Start writing."

.*~*~*~*~*.

"Alright, spit it out." Peter shut the door to his office, as he looked across at Neal. "What's the deal with the paint?"

"I made him go back to the store to get it, you already found the message I left for you in the painting. When he finally came back, I dropped it and pretended to be too weak to pick it up." Neal caught Peter's sarcastic expression, and shrugged his shoulders. "It really wasn't much of a stretch. But you know… it was difficult using the tube without destroying the finger prints…"

"Well…" Peter couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Neal's brilliant mind was always scheming, apparently even when he was drugged right out of it. "It's enough to hold him. But we better hope his lawyer convinces him to play ball."

"But, you just said Elizabeth could testify." Neal looked over at Peter questioningly, a hint of alarm lingered in the back of his still dull blue eyes.

"She can, but being that she's my wife, and the fact that you're part of this team, we'll need more than that, or the lawyers will try and discredit her…or us." Peter walked over to where Neal was standing. "Come on, I'm taking you back to the house."

"Peter…"

"Uh…huh… Diana can handle Rhodes and the lawyer." Peter pointed towards the office door, signaling Neal to head on out.

"Are you sure that's fair to the lawyer?" Neal quipped, but caught Peter's disapproving stare and playfully dropped his head, and slowly headed out.

They hadn't driven more than a few blocks when Peter noticed that Neal was asleep again, his head tilted so it just barely rested against the passenger door window. He was actually glad, only able to guess how awful his partner must be feeling. The more he learned about this case, and what Curtis had put Neal through, the more he wanted to get his hands around the man's neck and strangle the life out of him. The guard had tried to discredit Neal, pointing out that Neal's finger prints were all over the museum; saying the fact that Neal had been drugged was his own doing. Peter had already figured that they had used street drugs to make it look like Neal had been high on his own accord, but when the security guard had let it slip what he knew about the drugs, it had been his undoing. Peter was confidant that Diana would be able to get the rest out of him, so he had decided to take Neal back to the house to rest. The early afternoon traffic was unusually light, and they made good time across town.

"You believe me, don't you, Peter?" Neal's quiet wispy voice made Peter startle as he shifted the Taurus into park, outside of his townhouse. He hadn't realized that Neal had woken.

"Yeah, Neal. I believe you." Peter took a long steadying breath, and turned his head to find himself looking into Neal's pleading blue eyes. "Don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of this."

"Alright." Neal nodded in response as he slowly reached out to open his door. Peter's heart sank seeing him look so tired and ragged; it confirmed in his mind he had done the right thing bringing him back to the house.

Peter jogged up the stairs ahead of Neal, who had been making quite clear all day that he didn't want assistance. It was all he could do to try and ignore the fact that Neal looked like he was going to pass out and fall face first into the pavement, the moment he stood up. Neal clung to the top of the car's doorframe, easing himself back against the side of the car until his head stopped spinning. Peter smirked a little as he saw Neal try and put on his best reassuring smile; not only did he see right through it, Neal couldn't maintain it for very long. As soon as he had shut the car door and headed towards the front steps, the smile was gone.

"You know, Peter, you don't have to baby sit me." The tone of Neal's voice was reserved as he shuffled towards the living room.

Peter watched as Neal feebly lowered himself down onto the couch, letting his head drop back against the cushions behind him. What was he supposed to tell Neal? That part of the only way he was able to keep him out of handcuffs was to assure the police lieutenant that he would keep an eye on him personally? He didn't think Neal would consider that as trusting behavior, but in the end, it was better than Neal being back in the Marshal's custody. Neal had been making such good progress on getting back to normal, before this incident, and Peter didn't want to see him regress.

"I know, but I was thinking I would make a pot roast to celebrate you being out of the hospital." He saw Neal crinkle his nose in response and chuckled because he had received the response he was after.

"Did you tell Elizabeth?" Neal asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"She happens to like my pot roast." Peter feigned hurt, but a mischievous smile snuck across his lips.

"Uh…huh…" Neal teased back, letting his eyes droop closed. "Don't burn it this time."

.*~*~*~*~*.

"I thought you said he was doing better?" Elizabeth placed the foil covered steam tray she was carrying down on the kitchen counter. "He's pale as a ghost."

"He is." Peter leaned over and kissed her forehead, and then turned to his junior agent who was standing in the doorway. "Thanks, Jones."

"Yeah, sure. Y'all have a good night. Tell Caffrey I said, 'hey'."

"I will." Peter watched as Jones quietly snuck back out the way he came, and turned to his wife. "What did you bring home? I told Neal I was going to cook pot roast."

"Oh…?" Elizabeth's eyes twinkled back at him with delight.

"He wasn't amused. I told him that you like it." Peter playfully held a tone of distress in his voice.

"And what did he say?" Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her husband's waist, glad to be home with him at last.

"He laughed." Peter could hear the mirth in his own voice. Keeping one arm around her, he turned and lifted a corner of the foil up to investigate what was in the pan.

"It's Veal Marsala." She reached out and pried his hand away, carefully tucking the foil back down snugly. "I'm going to make some Fettuccini to go with it real quick. Why don't you go get Neal up?"

"You sure you want to do that? He's been pretty cranky all day." Peter caught Elizabeth's stern looked and laughed, putting up his hand in defense. "Alright…alright, I'll go."

Peter quietly approached the sofa where Neal was sleeping, turning on the table lamp to shed some light on the room. Neal's head jerked a few times and his eyes slowly opened, he scanned the room for a moment, before propping himself up on his elbows. His blue eyes didn't look as dull as they had earlier that afternoon, and Peter felt a bit of relief seeing Neal looking a little more like himself.

"Wow, I must really be toasted, cause that pot roast smells divine." There was a humor to his eyes that let Peter know that he knew it wasn't pot roast cooking.

"See? Don't knock it, till you try it." Peter smiled back. "Come on, supper is about ready."

"Alright, _Pierre_." Neal chuckled as he carefully eased himself up, and followed Peter towards the kitchen.


	19. Chapter 19

I don't own White Collar, or the characters... blah...blah...blah... Please be kind...re[view]...

**A/N: Well, the crappy weather got you guys two chapters this week! But the first show of the season is next weekend, so things are going to get crazy for a little while. Hopefully these will hold you over if I don't get another one done this week!**

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Chapter Nineteen

"Alright, let's brainstorm." Peter eased himself down into his recliner across from Neal, who had taken up his position on the couch, and opened his beer.

"That's so wrong." Neal watched as Peter made a show of savoring his first sip, settling back into his chair.

"You don't even like beer." Peter shot Neal a teasing smile. "Would you rather I got out the crossword?"

"For once, I actually think I would." Neal eased himself back against the sofa cushions, stretching his legs out and placing his feet on the coffee table, knowing that it would get on Peter's nerves. He managed to keep the cheeky grin off his face as he caught Peter's disapproving glare, but left his feet right where they were at.

"Spoiled sport. You've only got a few more days." Peter casually picked up the case file, flipping through the pages, trying to ignore Neal's pouting. "Just sit over there, and 'focus in' or whatever it is you do."

Neal crossed his arms over his chest and sat staring off into the room. As Peter had reminded him, Dr. Matthews was going to try and switch him off the withdrawal meds and back onto the regular pain medication soon. He was dreading it; he was finally starting to feel like himself again. But, he was itching for a glass of wine, and on the current medication, he couldn't have any. He crossed his arms loosely across his chest, shifting down more comfortably into the cushions, as his eyelids started to droop. It had been a long day, and even with the long nap he had taken earlier, he still felt fatigued.

"You alright?" Peter eyed Neal cautiously.

"mmm..hmm…just thinking." Neal mumbled back, without opening his eyes.

Peter watched for a few minutes as Neal sat mumbling quietly to himself, all his muscles trembling slightly. His heart sank at the sight of his normally vibrant friend and consultant; it seemed like it was all Neal could do just to function, and his brilliant mind seemed to be in jumbled mess. Peter knew it was hard for him to recall the memories of what had happened while he was under the influence of the drugs they had given him, but he also seemed to be having trouble processing information. He told himself he was just being paranoid, and pushed himself out of his chair to wake Neal, who had started to shake even harder. As he reached out to touch Neal's shoulder, the younger man's eyes flashed open.

"I've got it." Neal's blue eyes were clear, and had a glint to them Peter hadn't seen in a while.

"What do you have? Other than the annoying habit of falling alseep while we're working?" Peter tried to tease.

"Sorry." Peter felt ashamed, as he saw the glimmer fade from Neal's eyes.

"No, Neal. You don't have anything to be sorry for." Peter let out a deep breath, taking his seat on the coffee table so he could face Neal. "What did you remember?"

"Nothing. But…I think I know how to draw Curtis out. We'll need Sara's help, again."

"Alright, what did you have in mind?" Peter was intrigued, but he wasn't sure he was following yet.

"You arrest me again." Neal smiled as he watched the conflicting emotions wash across Peter's face. "Go public with the fact that you recovered the original painting."

"I don't think I'm following, Neal." Peter stood, and walked over to where he had left his beer.

"Eight years ago, Curtis had me forge the Degas so he could steal it…"

"Right, but you said you destroyed the forgery." Peter looked back at Neal, his eyes holding a bit of unease behind the curiosity.

"I did, but all we have to do is convince Curtis that I didn't, and that I actually _stole_ the original. If he thinks he has a forgery, he'll come looking for the original. He has to. He can't blow this job twice."

"Ok, there's only one problem with that. The painting we recovered from the museum has your blood all over it."

"So I paint another one." A childlike excitement was creeping back into Neal's demeanor, which Peter actually found comforting. "I've done it twice already, and you know what they say…"

"Yeah, right. Third times the charm. But…where does Sara fit into this?" Peter sat down on the edge of his recliner, trying to wrap his head around where Neal was trying to go with all of this.

"Well, if we say that I stole the original eight years ago, then the museum will have to authenticate the story by saying they knew that the painting hanging on the wall was a fake."

"Alright, I think I'm starting to follow. We get Sara to claim that her company ran tests on the Degas and found it to be a forgery."

"Well, I was going to say, knowingly hung a copy to keep the story quiet until the culprit was captured…"

Peter rolled the information around in his mind, knowing that if they went through with this scheme, Curtis would be after Neal again. He didn't much like that part of the deal, but knew it was a risk they were going to have to take.

"Just tell me you didn't…"

"Peter…" Neal caught Peter's concerned look. "No, Peter. I didn't steal it. When you get the Degas back from Curtis, it will be the original."

"How do we know he won't just destroy it?" Peter was starting to have concerns.

"If I know him, and I think I do, he won't believe the story right off, so he'll try and authenticate the painting himself. But, he'll need specialized equipment, that I'm pretty sure he doesn't have."

"And you just happen to know someone who does." Peter's voice held a hint of amusement.

"I do." Neal let a smug smile spread across his face.

.*~*~*~*~*.

"Did you talk to Trent?" Neal looked up from washing his brushes to see his bald little friend come through the apartment doors and head straight for the wine rack.

"I did. You had a white Burgundy I wanted to try." Mozzie's face held a look of disappointment as he looked back at Neal.

"I gave it to Elizabeth. Drink the Bordeaux." Mozzie shot him a look of defeat. "Focus, Mozz. What did Trent say."

"Everything is in place." Mozzie waved a dismissive hand towards Neal, as he poured himself a glass of the open wine sitting on the table. "Are you sure Curtis is going to go for this?"

"He has to. It's the only chance we've got in recovering the painting." Neal crossed to where his friend was standing, picking up his own glass of wine.

"And clearing your name…" Mozzie pointed out.

"Yeah." Neal took a large sip of wine, letting its warmth steady his mind.

"I thought you couldn't drink." Mozzie shot his friend a concerned look.

"Came of that crap this morning. It's been a long week." Neal lifted his glass in a toast, and took another sip. "Did you talk to Alex?"

"You know she doesn't like laying low, Neal." Mozzie pulled out a chair and sat, obviously deep in thought. "And you know how she feels about the suits."

"Well, she doesn't have to be involved, I just want her safe when all this goes down." Neal pulled out his own chair, sitting across from his long time friend.

"You're not sure this is going to end well…" Neal shrugged, the seriousness of the situation was apparent on his face. "Why do it then?"

"It's worth it to take down Curtis." Neal's tone was quiet and with a hint of defeat.

"Even if it ends this?" Mozzie gestured to the rest of the room, implying Neal's current situation. "You know they'll pin this all on you if it goes bad."

"Curtis has to be stopped. I have to put my trust in Peter."

"You can't trust water: Even a straight stick turns crooked in it." Mozzie refilled his wineglass, even though he hated every part of this plan; he would support his friend.

"W. C. Fields." Neal interjected.

"Very good." Mozzie gave an uneasy smile.

"I think Peter has proven himself of late. You could give him a little more credit."

"Once a suit, always a suit." Mozzie decided to change the subject and stood, walking around the table to investigate the painting that Neal had just finished. "I think you're getting your groove back."

"Well, let's get it aged and get on with this." Neal knew he needed to keep his eye on the endgame, or he'd be tempted to back out. He caught Mozzie's look of disapproval. "Protest noted."


	20. Chapter 20

I don't own White Collar, or the characters... blah...blah...blah...

**A/N: Wow, sooooo sorry it has taken me so long to update. Show season started, and I've been crazy busy, and had a horrible case of writer's block on top of it all. So, I think this is the shortest chapter I've ever posted, but hopefully it will be enough to satisfy, and maybe get me going again!**

Chapter Twenty

Neal hated the van. It was cramped and hot, and smelled like a few years worth of stale sweat and soured deviled ham. But yet, somehow, they always ended up jammed in here like sardines. Come to think of it, it smelled a lot like rotten sardines. He let his gaze skim over Jones and Peter, who both listened intently to the headphones that hung around their necks. Neal had his own pair, but he was trying his best not to pay any attention to them. The silence coming through them was part of the reason everyone was so up tight.

"Let me go in there, Peter."

"No way. Curtis sees you out in the open, and you could scare him off. You'll stay right where you're at."

Neal fidgeted with the cord hanging from his headphones. It wasn't that he didn't trust Trent to follow through with the plan, it was just that he didn't completely trust Trent. It had been two days since the museum had gone public with the story that Peter had fed them, using Neal's most recent copy of the Degas as a stand in for the supposedly recovered original. Two long days of being back at Peter's, staying out of sight, wondering if Curtis would take the bait. Trent had called earlier that afternoon, to say that Curtis was bringing the painting in to his shop, to run the tests to check it's authenticity. But, lingering in the back of Neal's mind, he had a bad feeling that something wasn't right; he just couldn't put his finger on it. So, here they had been sitting for hours; in the hot, smelly, stale box that was the surveillance van.

"Peter…" He whined, dying to breath some fresh air.

"No, Neal." Peter shot him a menacing, no nonsense look. "You wanted to be here, now you're here. Deal with it."

Neal slumped down into the chair he had been leaning on, letting his head hang limply over the back. The stark quietness of the moment was interrupted when his cell phone started to vibrate. The noise it made was seemingly louder than it should have been, and it made him jump just a little. He could feel Peter's eyes on him, as he slipped the phone out of his pocket and checked the caller I.D. It was Mozzie checking to see where he was. He had planned on being home by now. If Curtis didn't show, he would be stuck another night at Peter's, and he was dreading it. He sent Mozzie back a quick note, and deftly slipped the phone back in his pocket, trying to avoid Peter's continuing stare.

After a few more uncomfortable moments, Neal saw the agents snap to attention. Peter squinted his eyes as he strained to listen to what was coming through his headphones, as he made a motion to Jones. Neal reluctantly raised his own headphones; curiosity getting the better of him. He heard Trent's voice coming through faintly; the man was obviously talking to someone, but the second person stayed quiet.

"Suit up." Peter watched as his junior agents started getting ready to go in, before addressing Neal. "You're staying here."

"Peter…"

"No, Neal. You stay with the van, once we have Curtis in custody, then you can come in, if you feel you must."

Neal twisted the expression on his face as he considered trying to protest, but his body was starting to ache again at this late hour. He followed the agents out of the van, hanging back, letting his body lean against the side of the vehicle as he watched the team slowly edge towards the building, and then disappear. The coolness of the late night air was a pleasant change from what they had been sitting in for the last few hours, and he drew a long slow breath in, savoring it.

"Profitez-en vous pouvez." A quiet voice hissed from behind him. As he slowly turned, he found himself face to face with the larger of Curtis' men, and a .45. He slowly let out his breath, looking around to find Curtis. The little man stepped out of the shadows, a fist connecting sharply with Neal's gut. Neal doubled over, trying to keep one eye on the two men while he choked and gasped for air. "We're going to have a little chat, you and me."

.*~*~*~*~*.

Peter frustratingly followed behind, as Jones and Diana led a cuffed Trent Shaffer back to the van. He was starting to share Neal's uneasy view of the man, as he listened to the torrent of accusations come streaming from the man's lips. They had gotten into the building to find Trent all by himself, no sign that Curtis had ever been in the room. Almost immediately, Trent had started trying to convince Peter that this had all been an elaborate con on Neal's behalf. Obviously the man didn't know Neal very well; with Neal's low pain tolerance, Peter seriously doubted any of this would have even remotely sounded like a good idea to Neal. He just wanted to get Neal, go back to the house, and go to bed. He hoped things would make more sense with a good night's sleep, and some daylight.

Peter had expected to find Neal waiting right outside the van, but he was no where to be seen as then approached. Even though there was a nearly full moon out tonight, the neighboring buildings blocked most of the light, and the street lamps and the trees were throwing strange shadows around, making it hard to see. He tiredly walked over and stuck his head in the van, disappointed when he still didn't find Neal.

"Diana, find Caffrey." He grumbled, and he ran a hand through his hair. He couldn't imagine where Neal could have run off too. He had been able to see right through the younger man's attempts to put up a façade, noticing that he had been in more and more discomfort as the night had wore on.

"I told you. He's run off with painting." Trent called over.

"He didn't have the painting, you idiot." Peter saw the man's face pale, and what looked like fear flashed through his eyes. Peter crossed the few feet that were between him and Trent. He clenched his fist in his pocket, forcing himself to remain calm as the anxiety started to well up inside of him. "You better tell me what's going on, right now."

"Curtis knows he's not in prison, and he thinks Neal really does have the painting."


	21. Chapter 21

I don't own White Collar or the characters... blah...blah...blah...

* * *

Chapter Twenty One

Peter scrubbed a hand down his face, letting out a long sigh, as he leaned against the cool metal wall of the van. Trent had refused to talk much, claiming that he was an innocent bystander, and Peter had sent him in to holding with some of the junior agents. The Marshals had been quick to call and inform them that Neal's tracking anklet had gone offline. No surprise there. Peter let his head fall back against the side of the truck, staring up at the stars in the clear sky. If Curtis knew that Neal had not been in prison, and knew to find Neal here at the stakeout, it was probably also pretty safe to assume that Curtis did not believe Neal had the original like Trent had suggested. If that was the case, there was only one reason that Curtis would want Neal, and the thought made a shiver run down his spine. They had to find Neal before Curtis could do anything else to him. The trouble was, he had no idea where to start looking. If he assumed Neal had tried to smooth talk his way out of trouble, where would he have headed?

Peter closed his eyes, and blanked his mind, hoping the answer would come to him; hoping that he knew his partner as well as he'd been telling himself that he did. His phone rang in his pocket, startling him out of his daze. He pulled it out, checking the caller ID before answering, not recognizing the number.

"This is Burke."

"_Suit?_" The quiet voice was unmistakable on the other end of the line. A feeling of hope washed over him, wondering if Neal's little friend would know anything.

"What's up Mozz?"

"_It's Mr. C." _There was a long silent pause on the line, Mozzie obviously nervous as to whether Peter would make the connection or not. _"I got a disturbing phone call from a friend. Do you think you could check on Eddie for me?"_

"Mozz…why are you whispering?" Peter waited for an answer but when none came he checked the screen, finding that the call had been disconnected. His stood up, a little annoyed but hopeful, and looked around for his team.

"Jones?" He called out looking for where the rest of his team was.

"Yeah Boss?" Jones appeared from around the other side of the van, Diana not trailing too far behind.

"Jones, take a team to Neal's appartment. I think his little friend is in trouble." Peter waited for Jones to nod in acknowledgement and head off before turning to Diana. "You're with me."

"Where are we going?" She shot him a quizzical glance.

"A warehouse in Queens." He glanced over at her car, and shot her a pleading look. "Mind if I drive?"

.*~*~*~*~*.

His breaths were coming short and ragged, as he clung to his midsection, trying desperately to relieve some of the agony. Neal stumbled forward, slowly winding his way through the narrow aisle ways. He was forced to stop when his vision started to fade, leaning with one hand against the wall; the lack of air was making him dizzy. His body spasmed as he coughed, trying to fill his lungs, spitting out the blood that had started to come up again. He had been leading Curtis in circles, but he knew he wouldn't be able to stall for much longer, and he desperately hoped that Peter had understood the cryptic message he had tried to pass.

"I've had enough of this." Neal felt Curtis come up close behind him, and a gun was pressed into the small of his back. "I'm not feeling very patient tonight."

"all…right…just…a…little…further." Neal pointed down another aisle way.

"It better be." Curtis lowered the gun, but leaned closer to whisper in Neal's ear. "_Ou bien_."

Neal swallowed hard and blinked a few times trying to clear his vision, before starting down between the rows of crates. He and Mozzie had long ago cleared out what was left of his stash that had been stored in here. There would be no paintings for Curtis to find should he be force to pick a crate, unless he got extremely lucky, and he was doubting his luck as of late.

.*~*~*~*~*.

Peter felt uneasy as he pulled into the dark parking lot outside the familiar warehouse. There was only one light dimly illuminating the entrance doors, which were firmly pulled shut. Under the light stood the man he had met the last time he had been here; the man was quietly puffing on a cigarette, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Peter briefly paused to make sure Diana was following as he got out of the car and headed towards where Eddie was waiting for them.

"Mr. S?" The man asked as Peter approached; there was a slight hesitation in his voice.

Peter couldn't help but chuckle to himself, despite the circumstances. He sure hoped he was Mr. S.

"Yup. Mr. C. asked me to come down here." Peter stood quiet waiting for the man to process the statement.

"Mr. F. showed up about half an hour ago, with some other guys. He don't look so good, you know?" The man took another puff off of his cigarette. "He says to call Mr. C and have him tell Mr. S. that he's down here looking for the jade and the power is out. Does that make any sense to you? Our power is just fine."

"Thank you, Eddie. Can you let us in there?" Peter pulled out his wallet, offering up a twenty-dollar bill.

" Sure, Mr. S. Just make sure Mr. F is alright."

"I will." Peter waited until he and Diana were through the door, and it was shut behind them before un-holstering his weapon.

"What was all that about?" Diana asked as she pulled her own weapon and followed Peter towards the aisle way in front of them.

"Honestly, I'm not sure." Peter shrugged. At least he knew Neal was here, and as of half an hour ago, was alive and alert.

They could hear voices down what seemed to be the far corner, and they trotted down the aisle way as fast as they could without making noise. Peter kept both hands on his gun, with it aimed at the floor in front of him. He was sure that Curtis would be armed. He stopped as they came to an intersection, finding a small pool of red liquid on the ground. Diana bent down and examined it, while Peter kept guard; her face was one of concern as she stood back up.

"It's blood." Peter just nodded in response; he had assumed it was as soon as he had spotted it, and his gut was telling him it was Neal's.

He took the aisle way to the right, heading down towards where he thought he had heard voices echoing. As they came to the end he hung back just a little, listening, trying to figure out their next move.

"I SAID OPEN IT!" The voice was unmistakably Curtis', and he was obviously agitated. Only Neal could aggravate to that extent, Peter thought to himself. He locked eyes with Diana, making sure she knew he was going, and watched her back away to flank them, before he raised his gun and turned the corner to the left.

The sight that was before him, as Peter crept down the hallway, made a combination of anger and pity sweep over him. Neal was standing with his back leaning up against one of the crates. His face was pale white, and his trembling hands were barely holding up a crowbar. Curtis stood in front of him, the muzzle of his .45 only inches from Neal's face. The second man with Curtis held another gun pointed in Neal's direction as well, but was hanging back just a few feet. Peter was glad they didn't see him sneaking towards them, and waited until he had covered about half the distance before he announced himself.

"FBI! Drop your weapons!" Peter saw relief spread across Neal's face, but the younger man didn't move.

"You're out number Agent Burke." Curtis sneered.

"Am I?" Peter asked as Diana appeared, pressing her gun into Curtis' companion's temple. "Drop it."

Peter heard the footsteps of their backup finally coming down the aisle ways, and smiled as the sneer was wiped from Curtis' face. He made sure both men were being handcuffed before turning to face Neal, who had dropped the crowbar but had not moved from his spot.

"You OK?"

"I am now." Neal leaned his head back against the wooden crate, trying to steady himself. He concentrated on his breathing, the air finally filling his lungs. "Mozz?"

"Jones went to get him." Peter walked forward and put a hand under his partner's arm. "Come on, you've kept Elizabeth waiting long enough."

Neal opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when he saw the concern in his mentor's eyes. He wasn't going to fight it tonight; the couch was sounding pretty good at the moment.

.*~*~*~*~*.

Neal could feel the warmth of the afternoon sun on his face as he woke. He carefully pushed himself to his elbows and turned his head to scan the room, finding himself face to face with a wet nose.

"Hey Satch." He carefully reached over and scrubbed the dog's head before sitting up. The dizziness from the night before still lingered slightly and he leaned against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. He could hear familiar footsteps approach, and kept quiet for a moment as Peter sat down on the coffee table in front of him.

"You up for taking a car ride in a little bit?" Neal could hear excitement in Peter's voice, and curiosity had him opening his eyes to squint in Peter's direction.

"Where are we going?" His vision was steadying, so he leaned forward just a little.

"We're going to go get that Degas." Peter laughed at the startled look on Neal's face. "The man with Curtis last night, Dale Marx, he flipped on Curtis. Told us everything."

"So what are you going to do with all those copies? Would be a shame for them to sit in lock up…" Peter could tell Neal was scheming, but decided to ignore it.

"Oh, I think we can find something to do with them." Peter teased as he jerked his head in the direction of the fireplace. "I think it looks pretty good up there, don't you?"

"Peter…" Neal just smiled at the sight of the last forgery hanging about the mantle. "There may be hope for you yet."

THE END


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